


Knight Aspirant

by Gemma_Inkyboots, raisedbymoogles



Series: Alt-Vos Saga [5]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anger, Assassination, F/M, Forgiveness, M/M, Multi, Oppression, Orgies, Pilgrimage, Politics, Privilege, Reformatting, Repairs, Revolution, culture clash, hard decisions, making new friends, optimus prime is a giant dorkasaurus, war averted
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2018-10-31 16:16:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 79,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10902939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemma_Inkyboots/pseuds/Gemma_Inkyboots, https://archiveofourown.org/users/raisedbymoogles/pseuds/raisedbymoogles
Summary: Shift 3 - the Iacon docks. A bombing kills dozens and delivers a severely injured Orion Pax into the hands of one Alpha Trion. When he awakes, he is... changed.And destiny has a mission for him: end the oppression of Primus' beloved sparks, and avert the oncoming threat of war. His greatest ally in this: Megatron, the mech who is responsible for the attack.So, no pressure.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> BUCKLE UP, KIDS, THIS IS GONNA BE A LONG TRIP. Canon-wise this is a mix of G1 and IDW concepts, most notably in the forms of its main protagonists. Just think of it as its own continuity and you'll be fine. ;)
> 
> Warnings (so far): mentions of slavery, canon-typical violence, explosions, and one count of forcible reformatting. 'Cause Alpha Trion is a thoughtless entitled asswipe.

Shattering metal.

The crack of explosives.

The roar of a collapsing building.

_Pain._

_Darkness, terror, pain-!_

Orion shrieked himself awake, his friends’ names flooding from his vocalizer, fighting mindlessly against the horror of _dying entombed_ until his thrashing sent him tumbling off the berth and onto the floor. The - dull orange floor.

This… was not the docks. And come to think of it, he didn’t hurt anywhere. Was he dead? Was this the Well? It didn’t _look_ like the Well… Orion dragged himself to his pedes and looked down to ascertain the extent of the damage he remembered taking.

_“-Gah!”_

That wasn’t him. _That wasn’t him._ Orion backed up against the wall, staring at his hands and trying unsuccessfully to process what had happened. The body he saw was huge, blocky, and completely unfamiliar, with thick arms and a torso like a titanium brickhouse. Had he been so damaged he’d had to have a full rebuild? If so, who had paid for it, and why had they chosen _this_ form?

The door on the other side of the room hissed open, and Orion jumped at the sight of the mech who entered. “You!”

The old mech who’d been haunting their work site for lunar-cycles frowned. “You shouldn’t be up yet, my boy.” He crossed the room - wide, open; was this a warehouse Orion hadn’t gone into before? - and patted the berth Orion had woken up on. “Come, sit down. I’ll explain everything.”

“Explain-? ...Ariel and Dion, where are they?”

The other mech’s frown deepened, and Orion took a wary step further away from the berth. No - not just a berth, a _medbay_ berth, the kind he’d only seen after dockside accidents spilled out into needing to ferry mechs to the hospital surgery rooms...

“Never mind that,” the old mech was saying, and Orion’s optics narrowed in a glare of his own. “There are more important affairs being put in motion-”

“Look, if you were the one to repair me, then thank you,” Orion interrupted with a glance at the door the other mech had entered by. “But if my friends weren’t repaired they’re in danger, and I can’t just sit around.” _It seems like there’s been_ some _kind of mistake, anyway._ “My details are with the union, I’m-”

“I know who you are, Orion Pax,” the mech said, and that sparked the lingering unease into panic. He knew the old mech, of course he did; the dockworkers around the piers Orion worked at had all seen glimpses of the strange mech with the facial ornaments and the dirty-tarp wrap over the last few orns, coming and going but never quite close enough to be suspected of anything when supplies went missing or rations were shorted, and the younger dockers were kept that bit closer to the supervisors when he was around. The last thing Orion wanted was to be locked in a hangar with a mech who had apparently _rebuilt him_ to his own specs!

The old mech looked at him, and Orion saw some keen intelligence there, as sharp as the point of a lasknife, and just as merciless. “This world is crumbling,” he said. “You are to be Primus’s instrument to put things right again. The Matrix has chosen you.” 

_“Excuse me?”_

_The Matrix._ Everyone had heard of it: no one had ever seen it, and some said it no longer existed. It had disappeared long ago, in the keeping of the last true Prime, and though there had been claimants to the title since then, none had quite measured up to the legends surrounding the true bearers of the Matrix. It was wisdom, the stories went; wisdom, and truth, and strength. Those who bore the Matrix were chosen by Primus Himself, the god’s messenger on Cybertron. If it had truly been found again, it was a momentous occasion; if the Matrix had chosen a Bearer, it was staggering. And now he was to believe that the Matrix not only had reappeared and chosen someone, it had chosen _him?_

This mech was clearly delusional. 

Orion steeled himself. “Let me pass. I have to find my friends.” 

The old mech held up a hand. “Your path lies elsewhere. Let the dead bury the dead, Optimus Prime.” 

Massive fists clenched. “No!” With a rush of unexpected strength, Orion pushed past him and ran for the outside. There was a crash and a cry from the other mech that Orion couldn’t parse, didn’t _want_ to truly hear, didn’t want to think about how far this alien frame might be capable of throwing an old mech. His pedes skidded against scorched metal, faster than he should have been able to manage and his balance all wrong but then he was _out._

Casting about wildly, Orion could barely recognise the docks through the smoke. It couldn’t have been long since he - since the explosion - since the silver mech and Orion’s foolishness. The buildings were still smoking, the aftermath of an immense detonation streaking broken walls and the patchy, buckling paving-sheets under his pedes. The machinery alongside the docks themselves was now a mass of ruined metal, and the fall of the colossal dockside crane that had been one of Orion’s first great landmarks had crushed what used to be a string of storage units. Heat warped the atmosphere around him, metal groaning under the strain of what had been Orion’s home; there was no sign of Ariel, or of Dion, and only the distant sounds of sirens to suggest that anyone was left alive. Aside from the delusional mech back in the hangar, Orion was utterly alone. 

Ariel!” he cried. “Dion!” His voice echoed off the ruined metal and came back to him hollow, weak, _useless._ “Ariel! Dion! _Anyone!_ Please, _answer me!”_

_Oh, Primus, let them be alive. Don’t let him be the only one left._

The sirens were growing louder. Orion moved again, stumbling in the unfamiliar body but always moving forward, into the heart of his destroyed home. 

* 

The workmechs who’d come to salvage what they could of the docks - the workers and raw materials alike - tried to convince Orion to leave the work to the professionals, but he would not be deterred. All protests ceased when he caught a falling girder before it could crush a salvage worker, holding it as though it weighed nothing. Grief-stricken, easily directed, and _terrifyingly strong_ \- his help was clearly welcomed. 

Orion remembered little of it, after. He followed commands on autopilot, carried debris and bodies with equal care, and prayed over and over again to find Ariel and Dion. Then the dead bodies started to outnumber the living ones, and he prayed over and over again that he wouldn’t. 

_If they’re buried in that slag somewhere… it’s my fault. It’s my fault…!_

He stumbled one more time, falling to one knee, and found he could not rise again. “Easy, big fella,” murmured one of the salvage mechs, hand on his arm. “Easy. You’re about done in. Let’s get you to the medics.” 

“No, I’m - I’m fine,” Orion mumbled. “I have to - I have to -” But he lacked the mental strength to do anything but obey as the worker took his hand and hauled him gently away from the site of his entire world, destroyed. 

* 

_Clang._

Megatron swore, cut-off and fervent, and sent a sharp glance over the edge of the ship’s cargo deck. Billowing smoke was still rising through the wreckage on the docks, blocking access to the ships for anyone stubborn enough to try; that didn’t mean that his _utter failure_ to get the fragging thing moving wasn’t both frustrating and nerve-wracking. The distant wail of sirens came and went as the breeze eddied around them, and Megatron stubbornly ignored the unease creeping up his backstrut. 

“Should be gone by now,” came a rasping murmur, and Megatron only just curbed the urge to put his fist through the command console. 

“You are _not helping,_ ” he snarled, and Drift raised his hands with fingers spread wide in mute acknowledgement. 

“Can hear sirens. Won’t take long for them to get to us,” he reported, commendably neutral for all that Megatron could all but feel the tremors running up and down Drift’s frame. Another reason why Megatron had ordered only the steadiest mechs on this mission - even he was having a hard time not losing his own nerve or throwing punches. 

“Are the other ships emptied out?” 

Drift nodded, not distracted one iota by his snapping, and Megatron muttered another oath. “Fine. The remote access is disabled, I just have to rework the system to take us back to the rendezvous point.” 

His Second pointedly said nothing and Megatron ducked back into the mess of wires and pried-open panels, irritably sure that today simply would _not_ go as he’d planned no matter what. _Iaconian tech!_ It was clearly designed to be as inefficient and unintuitive as possible. As much as Megatron hated the Barons of Kaon for how they treated him and his worker-sibs, they had least understood the value of efficiency, especially given the majority of their workers couldn’t read more than a few words of Simplified. 

(How he hated that name, _Simplified._ As though he was too stupid to learn Standard. As if he couldn’t wring more beauty out of a simple phrase in Simplified than any Baron could out of a prose epic in Standard!) 

The tech would bend to his will, though. Slowly, in fits and starts, until he began to grasp its language and use it. The engines rumbled to life, power humming through the lines under his fingers. “Ah,” he huffed. “There you are. Now get moving.” <

As Drift hurriedly grabbed onto the bulkhead, the transport obeyed. 

* 

Orion woke to a haze of voices, distant shouts just on the edge of hearing and murmurs over his head. His HUD was a reproachful list of low fuel warnings, and he squinted in disbelief at the figures for just how long he’d stayed working - until the reason he’d been struggling for so long rose to the surface, and he let out a soft groan of anguish. 

“Ariel,” he moaned, one hand covering his face as his optics stayed dark. “Dion...” 

A cut-off gasp answered him, and Orion’s optics snapped online. Dion stood over him, optics wide and shocked; a patch of miscoloured plating stood out at his shoulder like a badge of courage, the snaking lines of welds marking out hasty but timely repairs, lumpy and uneven and _beautiful._

“Dion,” he breathed, static in his throat and his optics a blur. “I thought- I thought you-” 

Words failed him, then his vocaliser rebooted entirely as a familiar voice floated over to him. “Is it him or not?” 

“I dunno,” Dion called back without looking away - then yelped as Orion scrambled to sit up on the makeshift berth he’d been led to, clawing upright and staring with too-bright optics at the medberth opposite. Ariel, scraped and battered and missing half her paint, hooked up to softly-bleeping monitors and apparently unable to sit up unaided but squinting over the side of the berth with bright, frustrated optics... 

“Ariel,” he blurted, and this time the tears fell before he could stop them. Ariel’s optics widened, her expression wavering between shock and dismay. 

“Are - do we - _Orion?_ ” 

“It’s me,” he babbled, pushing up onto his knees and reaching for her hand pleadingly. “I woke up like this, I thought you were both dead, I couldn’t find you no matter where I looked...” 

“Orion?” Dion breathed, and a trembling hand rested on Orion’s shoulder as his own wrapped gently around Ariel’s. She gripped his fingers tight - her left shoulder was crushed and her hand lay limp on the berth, but her right was as strong as ever. Both their fields flared in distress and relief and confused grief, and Orion’s fell into synch with them as easily as he always had. 

“It _is_ you,” Ariel whispered, her voice thick with static, and for the first time since he had woken up in a body that wasn’t his own Orion felt a measure of stability returning to his world. He clung to her hand, the only part of her he could be sure that he wouldn’t hurt, and leaned - carefully - against Dion’s legs as his friend threw his arms around Orion’s shoulders. 

It took a while to sort out what had happened to all of them, as they kept babbling over each other and Orion couldn’t go five sentences without bursting into tears of relief that they were _alive._ Ariel and Dion had been shielded from the worst of the blasts by a bulkhead that had fallen in just the right way, but Ariel had been hit by falling debris as the explosions went on and Dion had taken some shrapnel carrying her to safety. They had been incredibly lucky to find a heavy transport willing to evacuate the dockworkers to safety; that truck, whose name Dion never learned, had saved Ariel’s life. 

And Orion… Orion’s story was more complicated. 

“If I ever see that creep again,” Ariel growled, then subsided with a wince of pain. “Not that you’re unattractive in this form, Orion. I mean - I don’t know what I mean.” 

“Don’t worry about that right now,” Orion told her, trying to hang on to the last shred of his strength. “Focus on healing.” 

“Body modification without consent is a crime,” Dion murmured, hand on his friend’s (unnaturally massive) shoulder. “We won’t let him get away with this. Do you want to be rebuilt to your former specs?” 

“I - don’t know if I can be,” Orion admitted, his optics on his own hand dwarfing Ariel’s. “Alpha Trion - he - said something about the Matrix?” 

“Do you really believe a word out of that mech’s vocalizer?” Dion harrumphed. “He’s just invoking the first fairy tale he can think of to justify what he did to you.” 

“I don’t know. I don’t- I haven’t had time to stop and think about any of this. ...I haven’t wanted to think about it,” he admitted more quietly, and Ariel squeezed his hand again. Dion leaned harder against him, holding him more tightly as though he could protect Orion through the strength of his arms alone. “And I haven’t seen any of the supervisors, or the others...” Not living, at least, and Orion’s voice trailed into grief all over again. 

“Okay. Let’s not think about it right away,” Ariel said, firm but gentle, and Orion smiled at her gratefully through his tears. “Maybe we can start with looking for lists of people getting repairs...” 

Orion and Dion started nodding, but Ariel was cut off by a startled shout from outside the temporary medbay. “Hey - _hey!_ One of the cargo ships is drifting!” 

The unstaffed cargo transports that came down through the Iacon docks for unloading had a pre-set route programmed into the ship’s main console. Remote access was only activated in dire emergencies, and whichever company had sent in the raw energon for processing must have been told about the explosions at the docks by now - they wouldn’t activate the emergency systems without authorisation from the docks’ overseers and the Enforcers, not without risking a huge fine. That left the only other option - that at least one of the massive ships had broken free of its moorings and was floating loose on the Grand Canal, and the three friends looked at each other in horror. 

“Hasn’t there been _enough_ damage today?” Dion demanded of the planet at large, scrambling for the exit with Orion right behind him. 

“What’s happening?” Ariel yelled after them, the temporary ‘bay’s door gaping wide as everyone who could rise from their medberth wobbled out to look. Through the smoke, thinning a little but still hazing the lights into murky dimness, the bulk of a cargo ship could be seen nosing into the open canal. 

“That’s not drifting, it’s being guided!” another dock worker gasped, vents heaving to handle the strain of stress and damage both. “The running lights are lit!” 

Orion’s optics skimmed over the ship, briefly bewildered - who would risk the wrath of the overseers and their fines, when the damage had barely reached the waterway’s edge? - until his optics locked onto a distant grey figure. 

_Megatron. I remember you._

He was in motion before he realized it, pounding out of the medstation and down the gangway, but he didn’t stop when his processor caught up with his body. He heard someone shout for security, and Dion’s voice calling his name, but he was listening to a more driving voice now - one of hurt and betrayal and anger. The cargo ship loomed ever closer, and stretching out ahead of him - the transport’s loading dock. Orion stormed out onto it without pause, engine roaring desperately as he pushed it to the limit. He reached the end of the dock just as the wayward cargo ship was passing in front of it and _leaped._

The transport rocked faintly under his weight and he scrabbled in panic for handholds, just for a moment. Then the hull slid him into the outside ladder, neat as you please, and he hung on, fans spinning frantically. 

The loading dock slid away from them - Orion paused to watch it go, and saw a lone figure running up the dock. _Dion!_

//I’m sorry!// he commed to the dismayed figure. //I’ll be back soon!//

He forced himself to turn away and start climbing, Dion’s worried optics lingering in his memory.

*

After everything they’d gone through to get here, the transport ship’s lumbering acceleration was doing more damage to Megatron’s state of mind than he ever could have imagined. It was one thing to know that the transport ships were slow, unresponsive things, and quite another to be stuck meandering along the Grand Canal on top of one like the planet’s biggest hood ornament. Drift had gone below, already unnerved by the great stretch of open sky between the Iacon docks and the outskirts of the city; Megatron had simply tasked him with keeping a steadying optic on the other mechs in the party and let him go with a goal rather than a lingering sense of unease.

Megatron could understand all too readily how easy it was to feel overwhelmed by so much sky. Without the pit walls of Kaon to frame it, without the stars as comforting yet barricaded-in reference points, the sky stretched on forever - he could walk sensor-blind through the deepest mines of Cybertron, but out under Iacon’s light-saturated night sky not even the stars could guide him. 

It was on that introspective and somewhat depressing note that Megatron was interrupted by a furious shout. _“Megatron!”_

He turned, arm lifting - and hesitated before firing. The massive stranger stood before him with no weapon, far enough away that Megatron could have burned him down easily. And yet, meeting that furious blue gaze…

“My home - my friends! My coworkers!” the stranger blurted. “You destroyed it all - what right do you have?”

“What right do you have to question me?” Megatron shot back. “What right do you have to siphon off energon that belongs to the workers that scraped it out of the ground?”

“And distribution workers don’t work just as hard? For not enough reward?”

“Compared to the world I was built in, you exist in the lap of luxury,” Megatron sneered. “And all you have to do is pass that precious fuel along for your masters to hoard.”

“If you have a problem with where the supply chain ends, then take your grievance there!” the stranger roared. “Don’t burn down the world around the people who have as little control over such things as you do!”

For the first time it occurred to Megatron that this argument was intensely personal for his surprise guest. “Who are you, anyway?” he demanded.

The mech’s engine spluttered. “I’m Orion Pax!”

“Orion- The little dock worker?” Megatron blurted, focussing every sensor on the mech as denial rose in response. “That’s not possible!”

Blue optics snapped with fire and grief and rage, massive fists clenching as the mech took another step forward. “It shouldn’t have been. But then _someone_ blew up the docks, and my _full-frame rebuild_ was _not_ what I expected!”

“Full-frame-” A chill ran through Megatron’s lines then, his processor racing furiously back to how he and his team had laid the charges - demolitionists, some of the steadiest mechs he knew, chiefly thanks to the fact that an excitable explosives expert rarely became a seasoned one. They hadn’t had time to map the docks, so he had taken the risk and sauntered over to the only mechs they had seen thus far.

_“Hello there. I’m Megatron - what’s your name?”_

_“Uh - Orion. Orion Pax. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”_

The small, stocky groundframe and his two companions had been the only mechs in sight - Megatron had been both amused and faintly unsettled at being called _sir_ by a mech so seemingly innocent, but these three were just as much in thrall as he and his worker-sibs had been. He kept his voice as jovial and harmless as he could, under the circumstances, and pinged back directions to Drift as he walked along with the young dock worker.

_“You see, er - I’ve been looking for a place where I can store my wares - I was hoping this hangar might be available. What do you store here? Raw materials, or energy?”_

_“Oh, we only store energy here.”_

_That’s just what I wanted to hear..._

Their plans could hold until the younger mechs had left at the end of their shift. The docks seemed utterly empty aside from them - if these three were the only ones here, then worries over potential loss of life will have been needless, once they left. Yet if this individual had required a rebuild…

“You were meant to have left before the explosions went off,” Megatron growled, his anger at himself making his words sound like scolding directed at Orion. “That’s why we waited until off-shift.”

“There is no such thing,” Orion answered evenly, “as off-shift at the docks.” Megatron stiffened. “Your intelligence is lacking, or your intelligence agents are.”

Indignation roared up again. “And what would _you_ know about such things, dockworker?” Megatron demanded. “In all your safe, comfortable life, when have you ever fought for anything?”

“I have never thrown a punch in my life,” Orion admitted with a grim, brittle smile. “Nor have I arranged to damage and destroy with explosives.”

“Then don’t presume to lecture me on my tactical errors!”

“Tactical- _people have died!_ ” the mech roared, shoulders hunching and hands curling into fists; an untrained stance, but one with power behind it, Megatron noted absently. “My friends are in emergency repair or _buried under rubble,_ and you call their deaths _tactical errors!_ ”

“People die in war!” Megatron snapped back, plating clamping down tight as he took a threatening step forward. “If we want our freedom we must _take_ it, and that starts with taking back the energon _we_ mined and that _we_ suffered and died for in turn!”

“You have no right to murder people to further an agenda, you have _no right!_ Ariel almost died, she and Dion almost died because of you!”

“Then think yourself lucky it was only _almost!_ ” Megatron bellowed, reactions pounded into his systems in the gladiator pits snarling for a fight. Part of him noted Drift slinking up from belowdecks behind Orion, but only dimly - the rest of him wanted something to hurt so he didn’t have to think.

For a moment, it looked as though he would get his wish: Orion’s fists lifted, his engine roared. Megatron took a step forward, ready to meet him, and Orion - turned away, leaving Megatron off-balance despite his braced stance. “No,” Orion muttered, then louder - “No. Violence solves nothing, heals nothing.”

“You know nothing,” Megatron answered with reflexive, bewildered anger.

Orion turned to him, optics snapping. “Then show me.”

Now Megatron really was off-balance, stepping back right into the transport’s control yoke. He jumped, turned, grasped the yoke and hurriedly course-corrected before the thing could steer right into a floating traffic barrier. “What?” he demanded, uncomfortably aware that he’d just _turned his back to an enemy,_ where was his _processor_ today.

“Show. Me,” Orion repeated. “Show me what is so dire that you are willing to accept the deaths of a few dockworkers. Show me there is no other way and I will change my thinking.”

_Not slagging likely._ But Megatron’s only other options were to kill the mech here and now, or else turn around and drop him back off at the docks, and the latter was no option at all.

And the former option - somehow, he was too angry to entertain it for more than a moment.

“Have you ever been to Kaon?” he asked, hands still on the yoke.

“I’ve never been outside Iacon.”

For the first time, Megatron grinned. “Prepare yourself for an education.”

*

When Orion had recovered from the rush of systems ramping themselves up for a confrontation, and then been startled half out of his wits by a small, dangerous-looking mech sneaking up behind him and offering to cut his lines on Megatron’s behalf, he was - escorted, was perhaps the best term, belowdecks to be introduced to the rest of Megatron’s crew.

Well. Not crew, he’d been very firmly corrected - they were miners, not aquatics, so they were a team, slaggit.

The intimidatingly quiet mech was Drift, Megatron told him; the smaller mech just gave Orion a flat, faintly disdainful look and fingered the grip of the pistol at his hip meaningfully. Orion gave him a politely alarmed nod and glanced to the next mech Megatron pointed out - Impactor, a huge, blocky miner with virulent yellow and purple paint and a drill for a hand.

“So you’re one of the dock-bots, huh?” Impactor said, looking him up and down with a grin. “Guess I thought you’d be shorter.”

Orion revved again before he could tamp the impulse down. “...sore subject,” he said through gritted denta when Impactor gave him a _what’s-your-problem?_ look. “Who are these others?”

The others were Demolishor and Break Down, demolitions experts - Orion managed not to rev at them too. “Orion has requested a ride to Kaon,” Megatron explained, and Orion got more than one frown at that. “He’ll help us unload the energon at the end to pay for his passage.”

“Now wait a minute,” Orion protested, turning on his host. “This is the first I’m hearing of this!”

“Do you think it is unfair?” Megatron demanded. “We’re spending more fuel than we anticipated with your - unanticipated arrival.”

“I-” Orion tried not to sputter. “Not the labor itself, but the fact that you chose to spring it on me like this is slightly unethical as labor practices go.”

“Hey, chromeaft, you don’t know from unethical labor whatsis,” Demolishor said. “You’re lucky we don’t just chuck you out.”

“Could still cut his lines,” Drift muttered. “Just sayin’.”

“No-one is cutting anyone’s lines,” Megatron growled, a rumble of his engine emphasising the words. “He is coming with us to Kaon, and after that - well. We’ll see.”

Orion’s fists clenched. “Were you planning on telling your friends why I’m coming with you?” he asked icily, and didn’t miss the way Megatron’s optics tightened. “Or are we pretending this is a pleasure cruise?”

“What’s he talkin’ about, boss?” Demolishor asked, shifting back to stand shoulder to shoulder with Impactor; the other mech huffed, but aside from a blunt elbow bumping Demolishor’s arm away from his drill, Impactor let the demolitionist lean against him without protest. Something in Orion’s spark twisted, remembering too many times he’d done the same with Dion on too-short breaks between too-busy shifts. Megatron hesitated; Drift’s optics flicked over his face and then suspiciously over at Orion, and still the miner didn’t speak. Maybe he couldn’t.

_Then I will fill the silence._ “You should know,” Orion said, looking into Demolisher’s optics, “that your actions today had a body count. People were hurt - including myself and my best friends. People died.”

“What?” Demolisher said blankly.

“So?” muttered Break Down.

Orion turned away from them both, sure he’d say something unwise if he allowed himself to speak again. _I am surrounded by enemies here,_ he realized. As his optics met Megatron’s, full of fire and fury, he thought, _I may have already pushed too far._ But Megatron did not shoot him, or punch him, or let his friend slit Orion’s lines the way Orion half expected. He just turned and stalked out.

A ripple of unease passed through the Kaonites, Drift and Impactor sharing a speaking glance that - really looked more like an unspoken argument. Demolishor watched Megatron go with open dismay before turning back to Orion, his deep voice a rumble of agitation. “What’d ya mean, people got hurt? I saw too, there weren’t nobody on those docks after you three left. We _checked._ Nobody was s’poseta get hurt!”

Orion opened his mouth but Impactor beat him to it, hooking his drill-arm over Demolishor’s shoulders. “Yeah? Well, best laid plans and all that slag. Can’t say we didn’t try, right?”

His optics were mocking, voice deliberately casual, and a distantly analytical part of Orion’s processor noted that the other mech was likely trying to goad him into the fight that Megatron had walked away from. But the taste of smoke and char filled his mouth, the pain in Ariel’s smile painted over his HUD, and something in him snapped.

“If that was your best attempt at making sure _nobody got hurt,_ ” he rapped out, “then it was pathetic. The docks work every cycle of every vorn on one shift or another, the lower levels were full of people who were damaged to the point that they may never pay off the cost of repairs; I pulled bodies out of the rubble left behind from you _trying!_ ”

Demolishor glanced at Break Down, then at Impactor, and in him at least the grief and horror dawning in his expression looked real. Gears ground in Orion’s fists and he only then realised that he’d clenched them tight enough to hurt. Break Down and Drift didn’t look impressed in the least, and Impactor dropped the arm around Demolishor’s shoulders in favour of taking a heavy, deliberate step forward.

“Now, see, you say that like we care,” he drawled, and Demolishor jerked back at the words. “Plenty of us dying all over Kaon to ship energon up to the Towers for you little dockers to send on, and you don’t give a scrap - so why should we care about a few of you?”

“If you need me to tell you that, then there is no reason to speak further,” Orion answered, forcing his hands to relax. “But I will tell you this - you are wrong about me.”

“I doubt it,” Impactor snorted, but Orion’s helm ached and he didn’t trust himself to continue the argument. He turned back the way Megatron had gone, and ignored the angry engine-cough from Impactor. Apparently turning your back on someone was an insult here.

In his angry, grieving spark, Orion was just fine with that.

*

Megatron was bent over the communication console when Orion found him again. Orion stepped to the side of the door and lounged there, no words to offer or further accusations to make. Megatron didn’t look up as he spoke. “Done undermining my leadership, Orion?”

“A leader should admit his mistakes, or how can his followers trust that those mistakes won’t be repeated?” Orion couldn’t resist, but when Megatron’s shoulders visibly rose he added, “I believe you.”

“What?”

“I believe that - all this isn’t what you intended.” Orion waved a hand over his shoulder, indicating Iacon disappearing behind them.

Megatron turned, and though his anger still burned in his optics, there was a wry smile teasing at the corner of his mouth. “You forgive me, then?”

“Let’s not go that far.” Was he smiling too? It sort of felt like he was. Orion struggled to hide it. “Help rebuild what you broke and we’ll talk.”

Megatron snorted. “I’m busy rebuilding Kaon after your Iaconian masters broke it. I’m a bit busy.”

“Now, when you say ‘Iaconian masters’, do you mean the dock supervisor or some Towers businessmech I’ve never met?” Perhaps his tone was a little more sarcastic than Megatron had been expecting, but the sharp rise of the Kaonite’s heavy optic ridges was amusing enough to be worth it. Almost. “This is the first I’ve heard of Iacon breaking anything, let alone something so big as all of Kaon.”

Megatron’s sudden stillness was the first sign that he’d overstepped. The mech’s heavy frame froze completely, hands unmoving on the comms console mid-code, and something unnameable shivered through his field; Orion’s optics flickered, a knot of uneasy cold unfurling in his internals.

“Are you so determined to mock me?” Megatron said softly, so quiet that Orion almost took a step forward to hear him better. Then Megatron rounded on him, optics blazing with an anger so sharp it looked like pain, rough hands clenching and an alarming whine coming from the cannon attached to his arm. “How dare you say you _don’t know!_ ”

“...what?” 

“Your _Iacon masters_ sent their Guardians to Kaon!” Megatron roared. “You want to talk about death - twenty gladiators died driving them off!”

“They - what?” Orion rocked back. “That’s-” His spark sank. _Hadn’t the Guardian who stood within sight of the docks gone missing for a few cycles…?_ “When was this?”

“As if you don’t know!”

“I don’t!” Though he had a horrible suspicion. “No one ever reported action against Kaon. Why would they do such a thing? Why make war upon another city unprovoked?”

Megatron snorted again. “Oh, there was ample provocation as far as Iacon was concerned. Ever since we began to take control of production from the Barons, they haven’t been receiving their shipments of energon as quickly or as cheaply.”

_...wait._ Another clue fell into place. “We haven’t been getting as many Kaon shipments recently,” Orion found himself murmuring.

“And you didn’t bother to ask why?”

“Questions aren’t exactly welcomed.” Orion tried to match Megatron’s hostile tone, but it wasn’t coming to him as easily as before. “All we knew is that we were short on work.”

_I heard there was an attack on one of the outer cities._ Ariel’s voice rang through his memory, and a hot wash of shame followed it. _I’m so sorry. I should have listened to you. I never thought-_

_This is wrong. This is_ wrong...

But Megatron was still talking, his voice harsh and bitter. “As you should be. There are still loose ends in Kaon, places where we can’t sell on the energon we mine - or where they will happily process it for us, but only if they can charge extortionate prices to do it and ship it back! My worksibs are _starving_ as we sit in the last remaining energon mine on Cybertron, and I won’t let Iacon drive us back into slavery!” 

His fist slammed into the edge of the console, and Orion flinched as the plating cracked. Megatron barely noticed the damage. “We have fought and bled and died for our freedom, and now they try to starve us out - well, let them retaliate against _this_ and see how they fare! Starving gladiators are not so easy to offline, and with all the energon here...”

Orion stared at him, the fire in his optics and the fury in his voice. “So that’s what this was about,” he murmured, and Megatron blinked at the soft words as though he’d forgotten Orion was there. “You needed the processed fuel for Kaon.”

“We mined it in the first place,” Megatron snapped. “Why shouldn’t we take what we are owed?”

“I’m not arguing that part,” Orion said firmly, and Megatron looked rather as though the ground had wobbled underneath him. The Iaconian, _agreeing_ with him? “If all this is true, Iacon owes Kaon a debt I can barely comprehend, but now you owe the docks in turn.”

“Take my debt out of theirs,” Megatron dismissed. “Let that be a start at redressing the scales.”

_“The scales cannot be redressed with more death!”_

Orion’s voice roared back at him, echoing off the close walls of the bridge; Megatron was startled, but not nearly as startled as Orion himself was. A moment later Drift burst in, leaped onto Orion’s frame, sharp blade in his hand pressing against Orion’s neck in a motion too swift for Orion to follow.

He froze, Drift’s snarl in his face, and had just processed his own impending deactivation when Megatron began to laugh.

“What a mighty warrior we have on board!” he declared, reaching out to guide Drift back down. The smaller mech withdrew only reluctantly, the knife still in his hand as his pedes found the floor. “You’d make a general to fear, Orion. If Iacon knew what it had on its docks, they might have pressed you into military service and then - who knows? - the miners of Kaon might not have won their freedom after all.”

Though he was pretty sure Megatron was teasing, Orion shuddered. “Please don’t say that.”

*

Drift was clearly not the only one who’d heard Orion shout at Megatron; Impactor looked disappointed when they came up to the bridge in preparation to disembark without any visible dents, and Orion worked hard to keep his face impassive. _Now I’m starting to see Alpha Trion’s purpose in giving me a facemask,_ he thought, with an uncomfortable roil in his tank as Demolisher glanced carefully at them and then looked away. Break Down just chortled to himself.

“Well, you ain’t dead yet,” he said in response to Orion’s careful look. “That’s a pretty good start.”

“Thank you, I think,” Orion muttered, and Drift glowered at him before bumping his shoulder against Megatron’s hip and, from Megatron’s expression, expressed his displeasure over comms rather than out loud.

“Yeah, yeah.” Impactor pushed between the both of them to peer at the view from the bridge, then snorted his opinion of tiny windows not designed to accommodate more than one bulky frame. He shouldered his way back down into the stairs to the hold, and with a shrug Break Down followed him. There really wasn’t enough room for all of them in there, and someone was going to get their pedes trampled sooner or later. With a glance back at Drift glaring at Megatron - for a mech who barely came up to Megatron’s waist, he seemed comfortable enough going pede-to-pede with the big gladiator - Orion ducked out after the others, Demolishor right on his heels.

“Hey,” the mech blurted, broad hand landing on Orion’s shoulder heavily enough to make him start. “Look, this - I just - we only blew stuff up ta hide that we took the energon. Nobody was gonna get hurt, or I wouldna gone. That wasn’t what we’re doin’ this for. I mean...I lost people too. You know?”

Orion narrowed his optics, and was faintly surprised when Demolishor shifted on his pedes and avoided his gaze. “I’m sorry,” the demolitionist said, and his voice was thick with static. “This wasn’t what was s’posed ta happen.”

“I can’t say it’s all right,” Orion said cautiously, then held out his hand. “But I believe you, and I appreciate the apology.” 

Demolishor stared at him, then at his hand, and reached out to carefully clasp Orion’s gauntlet in his own broad hand for Orion to do the same.

_My first friend in Kaon._ It was a start.

“Are you going to dally about, or are you going to work?” Megatron called from behind them.

“We’re going! Sorry,” Demolisher answered, and hurried down into the transport’s hold. Orion followed, for lack of any better direction.

The sight of the energon in the transport’s cargo hold made his spark twist - for _this,_ his coworkers endured the worst! - but with Megatron’s optics upon him, he could do nothing but bend to the inevitable. He transformed, backing up to the stacked fuel the way he had countless times for his own job-

_-clang._

“Hey, watch it!”

Orion winced and pulled his back bumper away from the lip of the transport pallets. “Sorry. New form.” Impactor grumbled, but he shoved a pallet of cubes into his cargo bed and waved him off. “I can take more than that,” Orion argued.

“You just said this is a new form.”

“I could haul more than this _before_ the reformat.” Now _this_ was a challenge he could put his wheel to. Megatron thought he was a soft, pampered Iaconian? Let him see how hard an Iaconian could work. “Load me. I’ll tell you when I’ve had enough.”

He heard Break Down snicker, but ignored him completely. 

The other mechs piled in energon until his axels groaned, and Orion’s engine roared as he slowly, carefully pulled away from the hurriedly-piled stacks of energon. His load of fuel could have fed a small army, but he was concentrating too hard on not bumping the precariously-stacked cubes to marvel at his new strength. _We’re lucky it didn’t all topple over entirely on the way down here,_ Orion thought with a lingering sense of professional disapproval, then huffed at himself and drove for the hatch leading out of the transport’s cargo bay. 

Drift had made his way into the cargo bay while Orion was distracted; the smaller mech watched him openly as Orion headed to the hatch, and it was Drift who found the controls for the loading ramp and the hatch itself. He didn’t open the cargo bay up immediately, and Orion wasn’t surprised when Megatron appeared close on Drift’s heels to stride over to them.

“Go ahead,” he told Drift, and Orion wondered quietly to himself at the flickers of anxiety mixed in with the anticipation in Megatron’s field.

Drift pressed the button to open the hatch, and Orion was buffeted by a roar of voices.

The dockside was packed with Kaonites, miners still wearing strips of hazard colours and gladiators in heavy armour and all of them cheering, waving, thrusting their fists into the air at the sight of Megatron and the captured transport. Drift seemed to fade into the background beside him, but Megatron raised both fists into the air with a blinding grin of triumph and raised his voice to be heard over the crowd.

“My fellow workers! _We return with energon!”_

The response to that was a wall of sound that almost made Orion roll back a few rotations, and if it weren’t for the other Kaonites moving around behind him then he might have. Impactor pushed forward beside Megatron, brandishing an energon cube like a trophy, and the crowd cheered fit to loosen the transport from its moorings. When Orion recovered his wits, it occurred to him that he hadn’t seen any of the Kaonites activate the magnets built into the hull, and activated his comm.

//You may want to make sure the transport doesn’t drift while we’re unloading. There are magnets along the sides, as well as the chains on deck.//

Megatron didn’t respond, but he did start shouting orders before Drift activated the ramp and Orion rolled down it.

After that Orion could hear very little over the roar as the Kaonites charged him for his fuel. He hunkered down with a _hweek_ of unused hydraulics and locked his plating down tight as he was climbed on, his windows thumped, his frame shaken. Hands swept cubes out of his cargo bed in ones and twos, then in armfuls. It was a relief to unload the most emotionally-fraught fuel he’d ever transported, but he was surrounded by strangers with far too much enthusiasm and far too little restraint.

Over the chaos, Megatron’s voice rose. “Two cubes each! The rest goes to the dispensary hall. Driller, count the dispensary cubes as they come in. Fracture, walk away with that extra cube and you’ll answer to me. You will all have your fair share, but not if anyone hoards!”

Orion huffed in relief as the last of the cubes were taken from him and the Kaonites - Megatron’s revolutionaries, it appeared - lost interest in him and started forming lines to empty out the rest of the cubes stacked in the transport. He transformed, his vents whirring. “Did that pay for my passage?” he asked somewhat archly, looking over to meet Megatron’s optics.

“For your passage here. Not for your passage back,” Megatron answered, entirely too pleased with himself. Orion huffed through every vent he had - apparently he had more now than before - but the upcoming argument was derailed before it could start by a loud whoop.

“Megatron! Hey _Megatron!_ You made it!”

A bright red figure slammed into Megatron at full speed, knocking him to the ground, and a brief kicking, thrashing wrestling match ensued, with the smaller red mech laughing and swearing joyfully as Megatron went about pinning a seeming multitude of wiggly limbs. Eventually Megatron wound up flat on his front on top of the red mech, chin propped on his fist, waiting with some amusement for the other mech to stop trying to move.

Orion blinked, then glanced around - no-one on the docks seemed surprised by this, and Impactor had long since pushed past him to start bellowing orders into the crowd, Demolishor and Break Down close behind him with their arms full of cubes. Drift was lingering, but if Orion didn’t know better he’d think the stony-faced mech looked almost fond as he watched - at least before he realised Orion was watching him and not Megatron.

Another mech came sauntering over - heavily-armoured in a brilliant golden yellow and watching the scene with a lingering, annoyed disdain marring his expression. He halted near to a by-now-very-grubby Megatron and his squirming prisoner, folding his arms and resting his weight on one pede, and Orion got the impression that in a few minutes the other pede would likely start tapping.

“Hey,” the golden mech said coolly. “You made it.”

Megatron glanced around and up as far as he could under his heavy helm, sending a smirk in the other mech’s general direction. “Was there ever any doubt?”

The newcomer shrugged, turned to pick up a couple of cubes. “Hurry up and surrender, or I’m drinking your share,” he informed his red friend, who groaned and tapped Megatron’s arm. As magnanimous as a king - or an elder brother - Megatron let him up. The red mech hopped to his pedes, brushed himself off, and cheerily bumped Megatron’s arm with his shoulder on his way to get his own ration.

“Hey,” he paused, peering at Orion. “You’re a new face.”

“Pardon me.” Orion stepped away from the last of the fuel; to his surprise, the red mech followed, though his movements were all newspark-curiosity rather than aggression.

“My name’s Sideswipe. What’s yours?”

“...Orion.” Friendly or not, Sideswipe’s intense interest made Orion’s plating prickle. 

“Are you joining the revolution?”

“I’m working on him,” Megatron called, vastly amused. “He looks the part of a mighty gladiator, doesn’t he?” Orion tried not to make a sour face as Sideswipe grinned.

“Don’t pay attention to him. He just picks on people for fun,” Sideswipe confided, patting Orion’s arm in an echo of the shoulder-bump he’d given Megatron.

“Excuse me, who just tackled me?”

“You’d get lonely if I stopped,” Sideswipe informed the bigger mech. “See you later, Orion!”

Orion shook his head as Sideswipe trotted off. “First a general, now a gladiator. I can’t keep a job to save my life today.”

It occurred to him how true those words were as soon as they left his vocalizer. After the stunt he’d pulled, tackling a transport and letting it carry him off to parts unknown and away from his duty station, he was most likely fired. The thought hit him tank-first in a burst of panic and he sat down hard on a lump of- something that he wasn’t going to look too closely at, bracing his pedes against the smeary ground and wrapping his arms around himself. He was just taking a click, he told himself frantically, just taking a click to let it sink in that he was _fired,_ that he’d be stripped of the scant protection the dockers’ union provided and thrown out onto the streets, or worse...

_Straighten up, you slaggers, or you’ll wind up in the Dead End! Those Empties down there aren’t as sweet as I am - now move!_

_You really don’t want to cause waves. If it gets too bad, they’ll start talking about cutting shifts again, and you know where that goes..._

_Mainframe’s on the warpath, grab a box and keep quiet or-!_

_Or it’s the Dead End, starvation and darkness, torn away from everything you know._

_Hadn’t he been torn from enough already?_

The scuff of heavy pedes almost near enough to touch made him startle - Megatron, leaning over him with a scowl that did terrifying things with those expressive optic ridges. Orion clamped his arms more tightly around himself, defiant, lifting his head just enough to glare back up at him in turn. _You are not the only one having a bad day!_

“Well?” Megatron demanded, fists propped on his hips. “Are you coming, or are you going to laze about for the rest of the cycle?”

“Megatron,” Orion seethed, “do you go around picking fights with everyone, or am I a special case?”

“What are you talking about?”

Orion looked up; Megatron looked honestly baffled, with a side of irritation. _Slag me, that really is just how he talks to people._ “Never mind,” he grunted, levering himself to his pedes. “Lead on.”

Megatron shot him an unconvinced look, but turned to lead him further inside. Orion firmly reined in his own temper - and his own panic - and followed.

What was done, was done. He still had a promise to keep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Orion acclimates to Kaon - sort of - and Kaon gives him several dubious looks in return.
> 
> Well.
> 
> That part's mostly Megatron.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, here we go! Herein we have canon-typical Peril, Orion repairing things, orgies, psychopomps, calling home and Megatron levels of temper tantrum while still making an excellent point.

Megatron showed him through the Kaon revolutionaries’ base with every indication of pride. Everywhere there were Cybertronians - most of them heavy-builds, Orion noted, laborers or fighters - hard at work at tasks ranging from building and repairing to sparring and instructing each other in the art of combat. Everywhere Megatron was greeted warmly, even enthusiastically - as though he were more than a leader, he was these people’s hero. Orion felt a growing sense of unreality. _Maybe it really is just me he’s rude to after all. Or Kaonites have a different definition of rude._

He noticed something else: every piece of equipment he saw, from power sanders to cranes, were in poor repair, rusty or bent or otherwise in desperate need of maintenance. The docker in him cringed: there were _consequences_ for letting equipment in that state continue to be used.

“Where did all this machinery come from?” he asked at last, unable to hold the question in any longer - despite knowing the undoubtedly poor response he would get. “More to the point, where are the maintenance crews?”

He wasn’t disappointed in Megatron’s response. The miner barked out a laugh that sounded as startled as it did scornful, and Orion braced himself all over again.

“Maintenance crews? You really are from another world entirely, Orion. There haven’t been any maintenance crews here since the Barons decided that it was cheaper to let old equipment run down.” Megatron tilted his head, one hand curling around his chin as he pretended to consider the matter, and Orion wanted rather badly to punch him all over again. “The last time I saw anyone repairing any equipment - hnh. Sometime last vorn, perhaps? And of course they didn’t bring in anything new if they could bring the same thing in second-hand for cheaper and pocket the difference.”

It took a moment for Orion to stop spluttering and regain control of his vocaliser; Megatron grinned at him the entire time, apparently highly amused at the _completely illegal and unsafe environment_ he and his people were working in.

“And the inspectors don’t-” he began to ask, and faltered when he saw Megatron’s grin only widen.

“You have inspectors in Iacon?” he smirked. “Luxury.”

“Hardly,” Orion shot back. “We were held responsible for the condition of our equipment; we could be fined if it wasn’t up to standards, even if we had to use our own pay and our own off-shift hours to make the needed repairs.”

“Hn. Even so, if _someone_ cared about the condition of the equipment, count yourself fortunate. Mine overseers considered ‘complaining about broken equipment’ to be a subcategory of ‘shirking’. Quotas must be met, you know - neither breakdowns nor cave-ins could be allowed to interfere with the almighty quota-”

“...how many died?”

Megatron stopped short. Red optics met blue, and Megatron nearly recoiled at the horrified sympathy - no, the horrified _knowing_ \- in Orion’s optics. “What?” he blurted.

“How many died?” Orion repeated. “As a result of this?”

Megatron stepped back, fists coiling - for a moment Orion thought Megatron would give in to the impulse Orion had been struggling against, and punch him in the faceplate. Then a shout rang out from across the cavern - _“Look out below!”_

Both looked up. The creaky old crane that had been tasked with lifting rebar to a higher catwalk had been given too heavy a load one too many times, and the arm broke off near the base with a sound like a death knell. It seemed to fall in slow motion, yet it was still too fast for the mechs about to be crushed by its landing.

“No!” Megatron roared, but it was Orion who moved without thinking, who stood in the loading arm’s path without fear - who caught the thing with a grunt of effort, hydraulics screaming, knees bending, optics shuttering as he bore up under its weight. The mechs who’d been about to be crushed underneath it stared in awe, but none were more amazed than Megatron.

...Except, perhaps, for Orion himself. The world flared blue around him as the shockwave reverberated outwards; sound seemed muffled and distant, out past the crystal-blue that surrounded him. The knee that had slammed into the ground throbbed dully, but any pain there was muffled in the blue glow and it felt very far away - he was dimly aware of Megatron shouting, of fallen mechs being yanked away from him, out from under the arm of the crane, and it seemed like both a very long time and no time at all before other strong frames surrounded him to brace the weight.

His vents were pouring heat, the constant rush of atmosphere leaving him almost lightheaded, and the compressed sort of feeling through his midsection evened out the strain singing through his arms as they balanced the loader arm over his head. The snaps and shouts of the mechs around him were almost comforting, like being surrounded by his friends on the docks when they were rushing to meet a deadline, harsh and harried but working together to get the job done. He could hold it up a little longer. He could. He would do his part. They’d get it done together.

Then a rhythmic shouting gradually pulled his attention around - _like pulling in a wayward transport ship, teams hauling on the chains_ \- and all at once the weight vanished from his frame with an almighty heave that he hadn’t given. Without that weight crushing him in place, Orion’s back arched and his arms slipped - he fell forwards and to the side in the wake of the loader arm releasing him, and the blue glow faded quietly away as Megatron dragged him out of harm’s way in turn.

Orion gave him a sweet, relieved smile, optics dim and hazy as his systems re-routed power to his self-repair. There were stress cracks criss-crossing his palms from the shock of the impact and he ached all over, but no-one was hurt. _No-one was hurt._ It seemed incredibly important that Megatron knew that, but as Orion blinked up at him it was clear Megatron was too busy yelling at him right then.

“-and I swear on my mentor’s pickaxe if you EVER pull a stunt like that again I will throw you in the nearest smelter, you - you overclocked, miswired, unbearable - _Iaconian!_ I should have listened to my team and thrown you over the side!”

“...you’re welcome,” Orion mumbled, blinking blearily as the blue glow drained slowly out of his vision, leaving the cavern gray-and-rust again, reassuringly as it had been before the crane had fallen. ...Albeit somewhat more blurry-looking than before, given that Megatron was now _shaking_ him by the shoulders.

“Get this - this oversized aft out of my sight!” he ordered while Orion was still trying to shake his rattled processor into some semblance of order. “Take him to the medics. Make sure he didn’t do himself any significant injury with that ridiculous stunt.”

Hands gripped his arms, pulled him upright. Someone slung his arm over their shoulders. “I’m fine,” he tried to assert, but he didn’t think he was too convincing.

“Sure you are, buddy,” answered his nameless attendant, and no, she didn’t sound convinced at all. “Come on, I’m taking you to see Sawbones. He’s a real nice guy.”

“Nicer than Megatron?” Orion asked wistfully.

“Ah, Megatron’s a sweetspark once you get to know him. You’ll see.”

“I doubt it,” Orion answered, but his guide only chuckled and it didn’t seem worth it to argue further. He felt - strange, dazed, disconnected. Part of his processor was frantically insisting that he shouldn’t have been able to do what he just did, that he ought to be dead and rusting right now. And just _what_ had that blue light been, anyway?

It occurred to him that he hadn’t had a bit of rest or fuel since waking up in the docks’ medstation. Perhaps it was a good thing he was going to see a medic.

*

Orion dreamed.

The blue glow from the pit floor had returned, cool and soothing in a way he couldn’t articulate but could _feel_ right down to his spark. He stood on the edge of the Iacon docks, looking out across the Grand Canal - instead of the usual grimy liquid that floated transports to and from shabby Lower Iacon, light was pouring up from the depths of the planet and tinting everything he could see with blue.

_Bearer._

Admittedly that wasn’t saying much, given that the waves of light rippling up from the planet’s depths cut off anything he might have seen on the other side of the canal. With one last, lingering look into the depths, the tingling blue soaking into his plating with what felt like a sparkfelt trill of joy, he turned to see who had spoken.

The being who addressed him was tall and broad and carried a hammer in one hand, and was smiling - but that was all the sense he could get of her. Try as he might he couldn’t grasp any further details beyond the blue glow of her form. _Bearer,_ she said again. _Welcome._

Orion blinked. _What did you call me?_

She laughed, a not-sound like bells and like fire. _Thou leapt rather hastily into my domain, else your own city’s guardian would have explained all. Very well: thou art the true Bearer of the Matrix, the one whom living sparks call Prime._

 _I - beg your pardon._ Orion glanced around, looking for - some indication that would make this dream make sense, perhaps, or simply an exit. _The Matrix is lost. I am no such thing as a Prime, anyway - I’m only a docker, and a failed one at that._

 _Never!_ The being took two long strides and was in Orion’s personal space, reaching up to grip his helm. _Thou kept many sparks from joining the Well before their time only this cycle. Hast thou forgotten?_

The docks - the horrible aftermath - and then more recently, when he caught a falling loading arm that should have crushed him. _Well… no. I haven’t forgotten._

 _Then let us have no more of this foolishness, best of Primes._ The being’s hold shifted to his shoulders, becoming an embrace - Orion held himself still and tried not to squeak, feeling rather like he was being held by a bolt of lightning. _Thou hast shielded the sparks I love,_ the being murmured. _Already thou dost herald a new dawn. The honor is mine, the joy is mine, to welcome thee to Kaon, dear Bearer._

Met with this honest, ardent affection, Orion relaxed enough to place a gentle, respectful hand on her back. _I still don’t know what you mean by that,_ he said. _Are you here to tell me it’s my task to rediscover the Matrix? I wouldn’t even know where to begin looking._

She laughed, lifting her helm to touch it to his. _The Matrix is found, silly mech,_ she said. _It is here._

And she tapped his chestplate.

*

Orion awoke with a gasp, jolting from recharge with unfamiliar protocols swirling through his processor. His chestplates were open wide and a weight that _shouldn’t be there_ was throwing off his balance, and craning forward to try and see if it was some kind of medical equipment did nothing - a lump of grey metal extended out from his chest, and his HUD said nothing useful other than that _secondary containment shields_ had been opened.

A flare of horror lit him up from the inside out, the fear of waking up an altered frame _again_ \- Orion threw himself off the medberth without a second thought.

The roar of outrage under the crash was his first hint that Megatron had been waiting at his berthside. Orion blinked down at the miner, optics blown wide and pale as he scrambled off the other mech and fumbled to close up his chestplates. “I’m sorry! I’m- I didn’t-”

 _“What the slag is going on?!”_ Megatron bellowed, gesticulating furiously from the floor before attempting to clamber to his pedes.

“You - startled me,” Orion said helplessly as the miner rose. “I think I was dreaming.”

 _Bearer,_ echoed in his head. _Prime. Matrix._

Megatron had a rather dubious look on his face as he regarded his unwelcome guest. “Well, you’re awake now,” he commented unnecessarily. “Do you have any error messages?”

It was a strange display, this show of reluctant concern. Orion peered at him out of the corner of his optic, reviewing his status in his HUD. “...no,” he said, automatically glancing at his palms. They were - too big, too broad, _wrong,_ but they were whole, the stress cracks mended. He was fully fueled and at one hundred percent performance capacity. “Your medic does good work,” he added, hoping to soothe the stormy look Megatron was giving him. What had he done wrong now?

“Nice to hear _someone_ say that.”

Orion jumped; Megatron lifted his chin. “There you are, Sawbones.”

“Don’t you ‘there you are, Sawbones’ me, you giant pain in the diodes.” The mech who advanced on them now was a labor model with the red markings of a physician, the seamed face of an older mechanism, and the irritated scowl of a thwarted academic. “I’ve been poring over my texts and I still don’t have a clue. I do not have a manual for this! I have manuals for everything, but I dinna have a manual for this! _How do you keep doing this to me._ ” He pushed past Orion, who moved aside easily, to grip Megatron’s chestplate as though to shake an answer out of him. “What are you going to bring home next, an alien?”

“I’ll work on it,” Megatron answered, amused and gently peeling Sawbones’ hands off himself. “In your judgement, is it likely to be dangerous?”

Sawbones flung up his hands. “I’d have to know what it is first to know that! Well?” he demanded abruptly, spinning on his heel and glaring. Right at Orion.

...Er.

“...what?” he said helplessly, wilting a little under the Look Sawbones was giving him. It wasn’t the familiar one from the docks; his supervisor and the older workers regularly gave the younger ones looks of exasperated affection or, more rarely, outright exasperation mixed with anger when they had done something thoughtless or foolhardy. Sawbones...maybe it was from a lifetime of dealing with Megatron’s manners, but Orion quailed at the look he was pinned under.

“Don’t you ‘what’ me, mech!” Sawbones snapped, hands fisting and thumping into his hips. “ _What_ the _slag_ have you got installed in there, that’s what! I’m getting pings off that thing that I don’t even know how to read, let alone interpret, _let alone_ start fixing up - not that you need a lot of help there, a top-up and recharge and slag me if you don’t auto-repair like a damned thing.”

“...er.” Orion glanced over at Megatron, a futile attempt at a translation - or maybe some backup - that he wasn’t going to get. The miner’s expression was as impassive as steel, arms folded and set steady as a mountain, though he did bestow an impatient flicker of his fingers at Orion from the fold of his arms.

“I don’t know,” Orion said honestly, and shrank back when Sawbones threw his arms in the air.

“This! This is what I got to look forward to! Ach, you have to bring me home the difficult ones, you-”

“What do you mean, _you don’t know_ ,” Megatron interrupted - he didn’t sound like he believed a word, and Orion bridled even as he despaired.

“I mean I didn’t choose this reformat,” he said sharply, and saw that strike home somewhere behind Megatron’s barricades.

He wasn’t the one to respond, though - that was Sawbones’ department, apparently. “What do you mean you didn’t choose it?” he demanded. “They didn’t clear the design with you before they started? What, are you a warframe?”

 _“No!”_ The thought was - terrifying. Him, a _warframe?_ “I am - I _was_ a dockworker. After I was damaged, a mech reformatted me without my knowledge or consent. I’m sorry, but any questions you may have about my frame, I can’t answer.”

“That’s…” Sawbones actually looked queasy, swaying a little where he stood; Orion held out a hand to steady him. “What is _happening_ in Iacon?”

“This isn’t exactly common,” Orion protested, though it occurred to him with a horrible sinking feeling that perhaps it _was._ Iacon had apparently sent the Guardians against the Kaonite workers without informing its populace. What else was it hiding? “Alpha Trion said some things after I woke up, but-”

“The _senator?_ ” Sawbones yelped.

“The - what?” Orion threw a wide-opticked look at Megatron, who looked as confused as he felt. That creepy old mech, a senator? Orion had mistaken him for a homeless unfortunate up until - until everything changed.

“Senator Alpha Trion,” Sawbones managed, hauling himself up to sit on the edge of the medberth Orion had thrown himself from. “He vanished - oh, vorns ago. Went off chasing the light like a giddy youngling. Some deep-wandering story about finding a true Prime. Up and left Iacon, vanishing in the dark like a thief.”

Orion glanced at Megatron and startled to see the other mech darting a look at him, Orion’s own bewilderment and disbelief mirrored in Megatron’s face. “What are you talking around?” Megatron demanded, and Sawbones huffed.

“Don’t you start with me,” he threatened with a pointed wave of a finger. “When you get to be as old and rusty as I am, you should be listened to with a bit of respect, you should. Alpha Trion stole away the Matrix from Iacon, and he was never seen again. And you...”

The old medic’s optics fixed on Orion’s face, shrewd and with lips pursed as he thought. “Open up those plates again, youngin,” he ordered. “Let’s see what we’re dealing with here.”

Orion moved forward as Sawbones gestured at him, imperious for all that his hand shook slightly as he beckoned, and locked his knees so that he couldn’t scramble away in a panic like the youngling Sawbones clearly thought he was. _There aren’t younglings on the docks, not for long. There are old dockers and young dockers, not younglings._

_I wonder if it’s the same in Kaon._

_I wonder if Alpha Trion the Senator could have done something, when Alpha Trion the creepy voyeur did not. I doubt he even thought of it._

He parted his chestplates slowly, hyper-aware of Megatron’s gaze on him, but Sawbones had no patience for his shyness. He reached out, pulling them wider apart and Orion tried not to flinch at foreign hands on an intimate area. “Don’t,” he started to protest, but there was nothing to protest - his chestplates were open, his spark exposed, and Sawbones was staring at him as though he’d seen a ghost.

“Well?” Megatron craned around to see over Orion’s right chest panel. “What is it?”

“Will you-” Orion flinched, turning away from him and pulling the panel closed. “Stop gawking like I’m a sideshow! Even if he rebuilt me wrong-”

“Wrong?” Sawbones took his wrist - a restraining gesture, but a gentle one, an easily-broken one. Somehow it stilled Orion’s retreat. “That crazy old miswire actually did it. He went and built himself a Prime.”

 _Prime. Bearer._ Orion’s vision doubled; the floor lurched under him. _Best of Primes. OPTIMUS PRIME!_

“What the sl-” Crash.

For the second time in a megacycle, Orion came to his senses to find himself lying atop an aggrieved Megatron.

*

The mech from before was standing in front of him again, this time without her hammer but with her hands on her hips and a frown on her face. Orion blinked up at her, flat on his back in a glowing field of blue, and dazedly wondered why he was lying down.

 _Now this will not do,_ she declared, her voice ringing like the clash of steel girders. _How art thou to be Prime from the floor, hmm?_

 _I’m not a Prime!_ Orion protested, then memory caught up to him. _...oh. But people think I am. I don’t know why._

 _Hmm._ The mech didn’t look terribly happy about this, her frown deepening - before it might almost have been playful, but now it looked as though she was beginning to mean it. _Wert thou told nothing, Bearer? I see the Matrix within thee, I see Primus’ joy and favour shining about you - how has this come to be?_

 _I don’t know,_ Orion told her, honestly bewildered and with no reason to even think of dissembling. _I don’t know how any of this happened. Why would someone do this to me?_

 _Thou wert chosen by Primus Himself, who made His will known by the Matrix,_ she answered, her cadence slowing in thoughtfulness and - worry, he thought, though he wasn’t sure he could read such a strange being correctly. _He who was caretaker of the Matrix ought to have explained all this to thee._

 _Alpha Trion-_ Orion’s voice dropped to a growl. _After what he did, I wouldn’t be inclined to listen to him anyway._

_...what canst thou mean?_

She really didn’t know. Orion found his hands clenched tight in fists and worked to relax them. _He rebuilt me without my consent! I should be half this height, my specs are wrong, my_ hands _are wrong-_ His throat seized with static and he turned away, anger and grief swamping him until he thought he’d drown-

Cool hands, gentle on his helm. _That was ill done of him,_ the mech admitted softly. _On behalf of us all, I am truly sorry. No wonder thou art adrift._

‘Adrift’ - yes, that was him right now. _Us all?_ he managed, though he couldn’t bring himself to look at her again.

 _Ah - my manners have left me. Again I am sorry._ Arms wrapped around his shoulders from behind, squeezing gently. _My name is Verdandi. I am Kaon’s guardian of sparks, its hammer against the darkness: living sparks would call me psychopomp._

“Verdandi,” Orion sighed. It took a moment to realize he’d spoken the name out loud, that he was awake. Memory slowly flooded back into his mind - _Sawbones. The - apparatus in my chest. And Megatron…_

...Primus, he owed Megatron an apology. And maybe a polish, if the miner-turned revolutionary would accept Orion’s hands on him.

He turned his helm to the side carefully. He was still in the medbay - Sawbones had insisted he spend the rest of the on-cycle resting, and Megatron had agreed. Perhaps only to keep his unwelcome guest out from underpede, but Orion was grateful nevertheless. He felt - better. The events of the past few cycles had wearied him more than he’d realized.

Then something - a subvocalized whisper, or a scrape of metal - alerted him that he was not alone. Orion froze, aware all over again that he was in a strange place where not everyone would automatically be all that fond of him; he dimmed his optics hastily, peeking through his other sensors as heavy pedefalls - tiptoed over to his berth?

“Hey,” came a hoarse whisper. “Hey - hey Iacon, you recharging?”

...well, now he was curious, slaggitall. Orion onlined his optics slowly, and blinked up into an unfamiliar face. A bright smile creased the mech’s optics and wrinkled his nose, lighting up his face regardless of the worn and patchy paint he wore, and Orion found himself smiling back perfectly naturally.

“All right, Iacon?” the Kaonite said cheerily. “Me and the lads wanted to say thanks, y’know. Never seen a thing like it in all my functioning, you just appearing out of nowhere and catching that loader...”

“...you were there?” Orion pushed himself upright, cautiously, testing his arms and his balance; the Kaonite backed up amiably as he shifted, then as soon as he was sitting up clapped a heavy hand to Orion’s shoulder.

“Right underneath the thing,” he confirmed, and jerked his head back towards the entrance to the medbay. “We’d all have been frag and scrap if you hadn’t been there.”

Orion looked, and to his surprise there was a knot of mechs lingering part-way through the door - a mixed group of frames whose heavy armour was painted with hazard markings and speckles of reflective paint.

“I’m… glad you’re all safe,” he offered, unable to think of anything else to say.

“But that was _amazing,”_ blurted one of the smaller mechs, pressing hir hands to hir cheeks. “The way you caught the loader arm - like a hero from a holodrama!”

A _hero?_ Him? When Orion couldn’t go five astroseconds without sticking his pede in his mouth around Megatron, much less-

“...please,” Orion managed, curling in on himself. “I’m no hero. Only a mech like yourselves.” A careful peek revealed that his visitors didn’t believe a word of that, and his spark twisted. He _needed_ to be just a mech like them. More than anything. “My name is Orion Pax,” he said instead. “What are your names?”

That opened the floodgates, the mechs eagerly introducing themselves so quickly that Orion knew at once he’d never be able to keep them straight. Diamondback, Blastburn, Feedback, Winch? Something along those lines. Orion blinked and tried to look encouraging as they sat with him on the berth or pulled up chairs, introductions turning naturally into stories of how they’d come to be here.

Some of what they spoke of - the gladiator pits, the overthrow of the Kaon Barons, the subsequent battle with Iacon’s Guardians - stretched his ability to believe. But it gave a little more context to some of the things Megatron had said, and Orion began to understand why Megatron seemed so angry with every little thing he said or did.

“...what kind of a person is Megatron?” he had to ask.

Blastburn, the mechanism who’d woken him to begin with, gave him an odd look. “Don’t you know? You came here with him.”

“We’d only just met - and not under the best of circumstances.” Orion’s shoulders hunched. “I know he hates me. I only wish I could somehow downgrade that to ‘mild dislike.’”

Winch barked a laugh. “If Megatron hated you, he wouldn’t have brought you here,” she informed him, and Orion realized with a startled blink that this was the one who’d half-carried him to the medbay after his ill-thought-out feat of heroics. “Not intact, anyway. He’s the straightest shooter I ever met.”

“He taught himself to read while he was still in the mines,” Feedback murmured. “He’s even teaching some of the others to read.”

“Everything we’ve accomplished - just the fact that we’re all alive and free,” Diamondback told him solemnly, “we owe to Megatron. He fights for us when no one else thought we were worth fighting for. Even we didn’t believe that until Megatron came along.”

A mechanism who gave others hope, who strove for better things and shared those things with those around him… Orion sighed. “He sounds like more of a hero than I’ll ever be.”

Feedback giggled, quietly, like hey were more used to stifling the sound until recently. “Awww, ’s all right, everybody gets like that about him fer a while. Isn’t a mech here who hasn’t had a crush on Megatron for at least a click or two.”

The fit of spluttering seemed to amuse everyone in the room, even if Orion himself was utterly horrified. “I’m not- I don’t have a crush on him!” he protested, and shook his head emphatically when Feedback gave him a knowing look. “I mean it! It’s just - well, he’s the one who sounds like a holodrama hero, not me.” _He sounds like the kind of mech who should have been chosen Prime._

_Even if he does seem to hate me._

_And his manners are insufferable._

Diamondback was nodding, however, an air of satisfaction about eir. “He taught us how to look up,” ei said, and there was a weight of truth in the words that quieted any lingering amusement. “He showed us that there was more to life, and to us, than trudging back and forth in the same lines for the entirety of our functioning. That we could change - and that the world around us could be changed. It’s easy enough to be strong, but now we know we’re powerful.”

The planet seemed to slow for a moment, a breathless pause in Cybertron’s spin, as the words sank into Orion’s processor. Existence seemed to shrink down to this room, this moment, heavy with meaning and bright with potential at his fingertips.

Then Orion blinked and the strange feeling was gone, the other mechs nodding along in response to Diamondback’s words.

“...thank you for telling me all this,” was all he could think to say. “I know you have no reason to trust me.”

“You _saved our lives,_ you daft mech,” Feedback protested. “Anyway, you’re all right for an Iaconian. You wanna play six-card pass with us? I brought a deck.”

Hey unsubspaced a pack of cards and started dealing; Orion accepted his hand along with the others. “Although I don’t know this game,” he admitted. “Cards are used for fortune-telling in Iacon, rarely for games.”

“Really?” Winch looked fascinated. “How do you unwind after work, then?”

“Mmm… go out drinking, sometimes, when we had the extra credits.” Orion’s spark panged as he remembered some of the people he’d never drink with again. “Tell stories. Hold orgies.”

“-wait, what?”

Orion was suddenly the target of four intense stares. He flushed. “It’s not what it sounds like!”

“...oh.”

“I mean, it was usually only four or five of us at a time. We could rarely all get together for a proper - um.” He was getting stared at again. “...what?”

“You seriously ‘faced with your coworkers?” Feedback demanded. “Regularly? By the time my shift’s over I could barely stand the sight of my team some days!”

“Thanks ever so,” Blastburn muttered.

“That’s sort of what the orgies are intended to prevent,” Orion tried to explain. “They strengthen crew bonds, provide stress relief and impart a sense of care and well-being that we wouldn’t otherwise get. My teammates were - _are_ more than coworkers to me. They’re my cohort.”

An impressed silence fell; the Kaonites looked at Orion with expressions suggesting that they were seriously impressed with him all over again, and might potentially be assessing him for some stress relief of their own. It had been a rough sort of cycle, right? That’s what this sort of thing was supposed to help with, after all.

“I dunno,” Winch said with the beginnings of a grin. “I think you’d better tell us more about it so we can mull over the details, Iacon. ...I mean. Orion, sorry.”

Orion gave him a crooked smile - after the few cycles _he’d_ had lately, even that small acknowledgement that his name was still his own meant more than he’d ever thought it could. “I suppose that’s fair enough. In the name of cultural exchange and making friends, of course.”

*

The loader arm must be repaired, but first they had to repair the damage to the crane that caused it to fall - the rust and the decay could be treated, and they may be able to spare some smelt to patch the existing metal - good-quality metals were in short supply right now. A patch job would have to hold until they were stable, and they needed that loader running again.

Megatron came off shift with a lingering ache at the base of his helm, neck cables knotted with turning too many problems around in his mind. It had been a relief to work, even if it hadn’t entirely stopped his processor from overclocking in turn. Maybe the exertion would make it easier to recharge - or maybe he should pull out his battered datapad and note down what wouldn’t leave his helm, and make more space for other things. The problems would still be there tomorrow.

Slag and rust, there would always be problems tomorrow.

He let his shoulders droop a little before he transformed, rumbling up the winding ramp out of the deepest pits - Sideswipe and Sunstreaker would no doubt be waiting for him on the higher levels, but he should be able to claim some time for himself to...check in at the medbay before the twins got restless. He climbed slowly, treads gripping the bare metal so that he didn’t skid and slide out into the void - it might not be faster than walking, but it was certainly safer. Up and up, lights winking at him from hollows in the pits as mechs dug and argued and plumbed the depths of Kaon, fighting all over again to keep themselves alive. To keep themselves fuelled, keep Kaon viable.

They would never be free of Iacon if they couldn’t keep the pits running on their own. If Kaon were a free, independent state...

Tarn was entirely dependent on Iacon. The scientists who lived and worked there were Iaconian graduates, feeding on Kaon’s exports and oblivious to everything outside of what they studied. Iacon educated them, Iacon hired them, Iacon set them down in their sterile labs and university halls, and Iacon muzzled them to its own devices. They had had no joy in trying to trade with Tarn independently, and Megatron would sooner throw himself into the smelter than bend his neck to a yoke not of his own making. He would be a miner, a fighter, a revolutionary, whatever they needed, but now he would choose his own fights.

By the time he reached the medbay level, a low-level simmer of anger had fuelled the last third of his journey, and the ache in his tanks wasn’t so sharp. They would be able to stretch the energon from the Iacon raid further if they supplemented it with the solid Kaon crystal they could still reach, and he could stomach a little more of the crystal energon before he needed to fuel up properly on something processed. He transformed and stretched out heavy, stiff limbs, shaking dust from his pedes and shoulders and rolling a pede to try and relax sore cables, then headed inside.

He heard voices before he reached the medbay proper: _Sawbones must be going over Orion with a fine scanner,_ he thought, but the tones he heard didn’t sound like the medic. It sounded, in fact, suspiciously like someone giggling. Several someones, even. _Now what in Kaon…_ He peered around the corner.

He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t to see four of his own perched around - in one case, _on_ \- the troublesome Iaconian with their jacks all plugged into him. Orion had his hands on his lap-warmer’s back - Blastburn, Megatron’s memory supplied - and was stroking slowly up and down while he leaned back against Winch, and Feedback and Diamondback sat at Orion’s pedes trading exploratory touches. Sawbones was nowhere in sight, or he’d have been pitching the apocalyptic fit that Megatron himself was about to throw.

“Hi, Megatron!” Winch called before Megatron had done much more than gotten his mouth open. “Want to join in? Orion here’s got plenty of ports.”

She patted Orion’s shoulder, and Orion looked up - startled, apprehensive, yet strangely hopeful. With his port hatches open and full of _his mechs’ plugs._

“Teaching them bad habits already?” he asked with brittle evenness, because _under no circumstances_ was he going to go over there and accept Orion’s mute, hopeful offer. Not a chance in all of Cybertron. No matter how inviting those open ports looked.

“Is this not acceptable here?” Orion asked, almost hesitant, like the answer really did matter. “I don’t mean to overstep. I only-” He glanced at Blastburn with the same hopeful look, and the unsaid _I was lonely and wanted connection_ hung in the air. Megatron wondered if Orion was always this easy to read, and if he was, how in the world his spark survived being worn so clearly on his gauntlet.

“If you want to spend your off-shift ‘facing, then be my guest,” Megatron replied, with what he thought was admirable restraint. “What Sawbones will make of it when he finds what you’re doing in his medbay, well...”

That made all four Kaonites flinch, which was no surprise at all. No medic who couldn’t hold their own against gladiators in pain would last long in Kaon, and Sawbones had been there longer than anyone else could remember. It might have explained why he was usually rather aggravated with the world and everything in it, but Megatron much preferred experience and cynicism to foolishness.

Speaking of foolishness, the others were still connected up, and Diamondback was still tracing broad fingertips up and down Feedback’s shoulder housing as though ei had forgotten to stop.

“...none of my concern,” Megatron harshed, and turned to go. Orion started to say something, but either he cut himself off or one of the others hushed him, and Megatron heard only a soft vocalization from him. _Good,_ he told himself, _I have no audials to hear him._

At least, he consoled himself, Orion couldn’t get into too much trouble while he was buried in ‘facing partners.

*

Recharge came with difficulty. Too many worries, too many lurking nightmares. Megatron’s patience ran out around the time first-shift began, so instead of tossing and turning fruitlessly he went out to see if there was anyone awake worth sparring with. Perhaps getting his plating rattled a bit would kill the restlessness.

The way to the sparring ring cut through the work arena, and by this time in first-shift the room was in cacophony as mechs labored and shouted and chattered back and forth. Megatron paused to soak it in, even finding himself smiling - here was a healthy, productive community, and _he_ had done this. Not alone, but he’d done it.

“You’re looking more cheerful today.”

Megatron did not jump at the sudden intrusion into his thoughts - only turned, a little more quickly than he might have, to confront it. “You’re looking more useful today,” he noted, and Orion shrugged at the tool belt slung over his shoulder. “Are you a maintenance bot as well as a startlingly eloquent dockworker?”

“I’ve done my share of maintenance work,” Orion replied, clearly choosing not to acknowledge the compliment. “As you said - making myself useful.”

Megatron snorted, but decided that it was better to encourage productivity in an Iaconian than not - and it would also keep him out of Megatron’s way. “Very well,” he said, waving a hand magnanimously as he started heading towards the sparring ring again. “Go on and maintain, then. Perhaps it will cover your passage back to Iacon.”

He didn’t miss the little frown marring Orion’s face as he turned, but he wasn’t about to acknowledge it, either. _Let him think what he wills. He stowed away; now he can work his way home again._

“...Megatron.”

He paused, only briefly, at the hesitance in Orion’s voice. “I am busy,” he warned; a not-so-subtle hint to get _on_ with it, whatever the point of this conversation may have been.

“I know. But I - I was wondering, if there was a comm set capable of reaching Iacon that I could use. I didn’t exactly explain to my friend what I was doing when I - left.”

Megatron allowed himself a moment to cycle his vents and let out a hefty sigh, imagining a cloud of vapour and worries streaming out and away. It didn’t help much. “You want to waste energy we don’t have to boost up a comm console and call your friends,” he said slowly, emphasising each word to bring home the folly of the suggestion. When he turned and glanced back, Orion was standing with his chin up, apology in his optics but his mouth set firm and stubborn.

“Yes. It won’t be a waste to them.”

Narrowing his optics at the mech didn’t cow him; Orion ducked his head slightly but didn’t look away. Megatron huffed through his vents again, this time a snort of pure irritation - mostly at Orion, but partly at himself for the tiny pang of sympathy he felt. “...if you repair something useful to an acceptable level, then we may be able to arrange something.” He turned his back, determined not to be halted again, and only belatedly heard Orion’s soft thanks.

*

He found Sawbones in the medbay when he was done, dented and scuffed and feeling much better about things. Sawbones put down his console tablet as Megatron entered, taking a long look over the ex-gladiator. “I suppose you want those dents hammered out.”

“If you’re not busy,” Megatron replied with what for him was positively bubbly good humor, and Sawbones pointed him to a berth with a wry shake of his head. “Any progress on untangling the puzzle that is our Iaconian?”

“If you’re asking me to confirm that thing in his chest is the Matrix,” Sawbones informed him, pulling a tub of tools out from under another berth, “I can’t. Nobody bothered to write down its stat profile the last time it was in a Prime’s hands, or if they did it didn’t make it into any of the texts or archives _I_ can get into. What I _can_ tell you is that it’s powerful, it’s strange, and it’s doing funny things to its carrier’s systems.”

Megatron’s sensors prickled. “Funny things?”

“Hold still.” Sawbones began to hammer out a deep dent in Megatron’s arm; due to the resulting noise, he switched to comms. //Processing power, reaction time, sheer physical strength, everything’s affected. In short, it’s making him better, faster, _stronger_ than his specs alone can account for.//

//Then what happened with the loading arm...//

//...would have ended much less happily if he were an ordinary mechanism, aye,// Sawbones confirmed dryly.

Megatron grunted, and turned it over in his mind as Sawbones moved on to the dent over his torso. //So, if we were to give the Matrix to someone else…?//

//I wouldn’t,// Sawbones answered. //Whatever Alpha Trion’s sins, he managed to reformat Orion to be gestalt with the Matrix. Taking it out of him would have unforeseen consequences - and I don’t think the Matrix would have the same effect on anyone else.//

//Hmph.// So much for that plan. The next Prime would be an Iaconian again - and that had gone so terribly well in the past, hadn’t it. Another cloistered, blinkered, closed-minded-

Something bounced off the top of his helm with a _clunk_ and Megatron almost fell off the berth. //Stop that right now,// Sawbones snapped, going right back to hammering. //I see where that thought’s going and I don’t like it one bit. We’ve got a decent enough mech there, whatever that hunk o’crystal and mess is doing to his substructure, and if you can’t see the benefits of getting to know him _I certainly can._ //

//You’re just saying that because you didn’t see the orgy in the medbay he incited,// Megatron grumbled, inching his arm up to rub at his helm’s latest dent. He wasn’t prepared for Sawbones to snort out a laugh, one audible in flickers through the ringing hammer-strokes. 

//What makes you think I didn’t? Someone had to monitor the whole shebang when they really got going. Somebody might’ve blown a fuse. Or two. Or three, come to think. Phew.//

Megatron sputtered. “I didn’t need to hear that!” he protested aloud; his words may have been lost under noise, but not the underlying sentiment, and Sawbones wasted not a single moment in laughing at him, the slagger. //Tell me at least he was respectful.//

//Oh, quite the gentlemech. He explained all the rules before they got started, even - no pressure, no giving anyone grief for saying no to anything, no possessiveness after. Seems Iaconians keep ‘facing and romance in separate boxes, which I guess explains the whole ‘facing-after-work thing.//

//Or Iaconians are steeped in decadence and casual pleasure,// Megatron grumped. Sawbones stepped away, unconcernedly examining his hammer. “Am I done?”

“Until the next time someone drops you on your head, I’m sure.” Sawbones waved a dismissive hand. “Go on. Go play with your new walking puzzle.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Megatron grunted, but Sawbones was no longer paying attention - he still had a few puzzles of his own to sort out, Megatron was sure, all centered around this apparent Prime. Megatron had just reached the doorway when Sawbones spoke again.

“He was heading out to work on that loader arm if he could. Might wanna start there.”

Megatron turned sharply, but Sawbones had already wandered out of the main bay and into the storage units. Was he _humming?_

*

Drift was a near-invisible shadow on the winding road leading to the crane pit; he had found himself an observation post and clearly settled in for the duration, running on low power and with his attention locked onto the figure toiling away below. Megatron rested a hand on the smaller mech’s cool shoulder, frowning slightly at the faint, somewhat threadbare field whispering _acknowledgement_ against his fingers, and bumped the back of his hand reprovingly against Drift’s helm as he knelt.

//Refuel. You won’t deplete our stores to nothing by shadowing a potential threat instead of labouring.//

Drift shrugged, a slight twitch of movement that wouldn’t draw attention, even with the added bulk of armour plugged into his plating. //Don’t need much anyway. Only sitting here.//

Megatron poked his back this time, getting a flicker-flare of irritation from the smaller mech. //Drink this and don’t complain. I want you ready if he does prove to be some kind of problem.// He pulled a cube from his subspace and set it in Drift’s lap, and for all the other mech scowled and made a show of not even looking at it, Megatron could at least trust that Drift’s desire to please meant some of the cube would be gone by the time he returned.

In the meantime, he had his own observations to make. Leaving Drift to his watch, Megatron sauntered down the ramp, nodding in greeting to working mechs as he passed. He wanted the walk; wanted to see up close how his people were doing, whether they were well-repaired and well-rested, whether they needed anything at all. Everyone was doing the best they could with what little they had, and Megatron owed it to them to work as hard as they did.

The crane-pit had been a mining pit, once upon a time, and although it had many of the amenities of a fully-functioning base now it still had a ways to go before it could be considered complete. In addition there were the two larger shuttle buses they were working on building, a recycling station in need of recycled parts, and always, always the never-ending mining operations. The work was harder than ever, having to go deeper into Cybertron’s substructure to get the crystals out, but at least the miners were well-paid for their labor and had access to medical attention.

And now, Megatron reflected as he reached the base of the pit, they had a maintenance laborer who hailed from the same city which would bring all this crashing down around their audials if they could. _How ironic._

Orion had the troublesome loading arm in his hands again, but this time he had help holding it steady while two other mechs worked with welders to fix the thing. Two shorter bots - average-sized for minibot labor models, Megatron noted, they just looked particularly small compared to Orion - were bracing it closer to the weld point, but their arms were starting to tremble. Megatron was striding forward to help when Orion called out, “Switch.”

Immediately, two other laborers came forward, taking the burden from their fellows without making the loading arm so much as vibrate. The tired mechs staggered away, rotating their arms, as the ones who’d relieved them braced themselves under the weight - with the help of Orion, who wasn’t so much as venting with exertion.

“I see you have some experience with command,” Megatron said as he came over. A couple of the working mechs gasped at his appearance, seemingly out of nowhere; another one or two had seen him coming and snickered to themselves at their comrades’ amazement. Megatron, naturally, didn’t so much as flicker an optic at them to share their amusement. Ahem. “Perhaps you should have been a general after all.”

Orion gave him a faintly exasperated look in reply. “I realise that I need to pay for my passage and a comm call,” he said dryly, “But I doubt I’m up to filling any of the jobs you keep waving under my nose. This, at least, I know I can do.”

“So I see.” It wasn’t as though he was doing anything particularly complicated or arduous, really. It was just holding up one end of the crane arm - alone, where two of the strongest frametype in Kaon had had to switch out before Orion even started to look strained. Another two minibots had had to take over when the first pair needed a break, and Orion hadn’t even tired...

“I thought I might as well make myself useful, so here I am,” Orion was saying, and Megatron nodded a little distractedly. “The crane arm is the real problem, but the mechanism should be running a little more smoothly now.”

“It’ll be ready for service by next on-cycle,” one of the welders put in, grinning behind his light-shielding visor. “Orion’s been a huge help.”

“Has he.” Megatron wasn’t sure he approved, but he couldn’t argue with the results.

“I’m not done yet,” Orion said determinedly. “This is only the first item on my list.”

He had a list? Primus below, he had a _list._ What could possibly be on it? Instruction in Iaconian manners? Furnishing a boudoir suitable for orgies? _Decorating?_ “I think you’re getting a bit carried away,” he commented, watching Orion’s hands with idle fascination. _Still,_ not a tremor. “You needn’t go to such lengths to try to impress me, you know.”

He’d meant that to be only a testing jab, but it hit like a haymaker. Orion blinked at him, then turned his face away. “Is such a thing possible?” he asked. “It hadn’t crossed my mind. I just wanted to make sure the crane wouldn’t hurt anyone else.”

Behind the implacable calmness Megatron detected a fierce determination, but somewhere beyond that - just on the edge of perception - he thought there was a quiet shake in Orion’s voice. _I think I have your measure now, Iaconian,_ he mused, and tried not to think that the driving force behind Orion’s actions was something he could relate to.

“And Kaon is stronger for your hard work,” Megatron said aloud, which was something he said to workers all the time, so why should it light Orion up with hope so brightly?

Perhaps he didn’t have Orion’s measure as thoroughly mapped as he’d thought.

Megatron stood and observed for a short while longer, but there were other pressing things he had to see to and there really didn’t seem much need for his help. He headed back out of the pit to the crosswalk level, his processor still back on the levels below rather than on where he was going or what he should be tackling next, and it took a mental effort to pause by Drift’s post and make sure he really had fuelled up. For all that the mech claimed not to need much in the way of energon, Sawbones would chase him into the medbay in high dudgeon if he knew Drift wasn’t fuelling. Kaon may not see many racer frames, but Megatron knew the signs of past starvation, and he was determined he wouldn’t see them in one of his closest lieutenants for much longer.

Once out of the pit, he forced himself to concentrate, and moved on to the next urgent issue with his processor redirected firmly towards what needed to be done. His people needed fuel and shelter, needed a _future,_ and Megatron meant to make sure they had it all.

And maybe, if work went well today, he’d see what Sawbones meant by _a perfect gentlemech._

*

In addition to the usual progress reports, disciplinary reports, and scurrilous gossip (the latter two were indistinguishable at times) that came Megatron’s way, a new category of information began to make its way to him: reports on Orion.

And all of them were complementary to outright glowing, to Megatron’s shock. Orion spent his days doing the work of three mechs, and his break times asking the other Kaonites for stories - about what their lives were like before the revolution, about what they did now, about what they hoped for in the future - and actually _listening_ to the answers. Between the listening, the working, and the occasional after-shift orgy, Orion was rapidly becoming the most popular mech in Kaon after only a few cycles among them.

Megatron couldn’t deny he was starting to warm to the mech himself. So far he had done exactly what he said he would do: earn his passage back to Iacon, and listen to the Kaonites with an open mind. Perhaps this mech would be his first Iaconian friend, and wouldn’t that be a strange turn of events given how their acquaintance began?

Which reminded him…

“Orion?” Megatron strode into the medbay after off-shift, where his guest could usually be found. “Come on,” he said when he found Orion surrounded by fellow workers - playing cards rather than trading connectors, he noted with some relief. “It’s past time I showed you to the comm station.”

“The-” The other mech didn’t move for a moment, incomprehension vanishing under a joy that rose like a heavenly body and filled the room with the warmth of Orion’s field. “ _...thank you._ ”

Megatron shifted his shoulders uncomfortably, a faint prickle of guilt chasing that warmth down and transmuting it into something that didn’t sit well under his plating. “You seem to be doing well enough,” he managed, and even he winced internally at the words. “It’s hard to believe you came here to work against us, and I won’t keep up restrictions that are proven to be unnecessary any longer than need be.”

“Going to call your girlfriend, Orion?” one of the others teased, but Orion was too busy scrambling - carefully - off the berth and over to Megatron’s side to answer immediately. When he did, it was a smile that lit the room.

“I’m going to call my family,” he said simply, then in a moment he was out of the door and waiting impatiently for Megatron to lead the way.

*

The comm station was one of the parts of the base that Megatron generally enjoyed visiting. It was a long, meandering route that led from the medbay, out of the pit, up the zig-zagging track to one of the crossing levels, then onto one of the mine tracks that doubled as bridges between and across the cavernous pits, then up again in a spiral that climbed one of the lingering spires of metal that was too tough or too useful a support to pull down. 

“This had been part of one of the Baron’s enclaves,” Megatron told Orion as they climbed, hauling himself up the steps with a sensor for the other mech. There was no rail - the Barons hadn’t cared overmuch for health and safety, even between themselves. “Some of the spars here connected, and the Barons could look out over the mines and the arena in _luxury_ and _comfort,_ as well as giving the impression that they oversaw everything that went on.”

Orion frowned, glancing around the pits and the multi-levelled walkways stretching between and over them. “That must have taken some impressive engineering. I don’t see any other spars that could support anything extending out from this one.”

The grin Megaton gave over his shoulder was shark-like in return. “No, you wouldn’t.”

There was a brief pause mid-step as Orion clearly caught up to what Megatron was so casually implying; he didn’t ask, and Megatron found himself faintly disappointed not to get to explain - that had been a glorious feat of demolition, seeing the Barons’ airy strongholds come crashing down! - but before too much longer they were ducking into the comm station. It had been cobbled together from what supports remained at the top of the spar and what equipment they had scavenged from elsewhere, forming a mostly-functional comm station that was high enough to send signals clear across Kaon. That was the main aim, in case of emergency or attack, and had held up well against the Guardians. Now it was time to see if it would reach Iacon. Megatron found himself interested, in a perverse fashion, just to see if it could be done - and spite the enemy Iacon at the back of his processor in the process.

Orion seemed to lose all interest in Megatron’s war stories as soon as they entered the room anyway. He paused a moment, hands trembling, then dove for the comm unit like a starving mechanism at a full cube of fresh fuel. As Megatron watched, arms crossed, Orion dialed in the comm code, boosted the signal, muttered a prayer, and gave the console a thump. It connected, and the screen flickered to life.

//Hello, who-// The staticky voice cut off with a gasp. // _Orion!_ //

“Ariel!” Orion pressed his hands to either side of the screen, as though he could embrace his friend over the comms. “Oh, you don’t know how good it is to hear your voice.”

//You don’t know what a relief it is to hear yours! When you ran off like that - and then not a word from you for cycles!//

“I know, I’m sorry. It’s taken me this long to pay for a chance to use their comm room.”

Past Orion’s shoulder, Megatron saw Ariel squint. //Who’s ‘they’?//

“...um.” Orion glanced guiltily back at Megatron, who only lifted an optic ridge at him. “That’s - complicated. Do you remember the Kaonite we met just before the explosion happened - Megatron? When I boarded that transport, he was driving it.”

Ariel was quick to put the pieces together, Megatron would give her that - she snapped upright, optics blazing with fury. //He’s the one who blew up the docks? Why that rusty, smug - you put him on right now!//

“Ariel, that’s not - I mean, he did, but he didn’t mean-”

//Orion Pax, I swear before Primus if you don’t put him on _right this click-_ //

Well, wasn’t this an entertaining conversation. Orion shot him another look over his shoulder, this time apologetic, which only changed to exasperated when he saw how Megatron was grinning. Unfortunately for Megatron, Orion moving meant that his little docker friend could now see Megatron past his shoulder. She drew herself up, plating flaring and optics aflame as she quite literally shook with rage, and despite himself Megatron felt his optic ridges rise - for all that she looked as delicate as Drift had, once, that look actually came close to intimidating him.

//YOU. You murdering sludge, you - you _lying-_ I swear to Primus and the Keeper, if you’re holding him there against his will I will come down there and _I will end you!_ //

“Protective friends you have, Orion,” Megatron murmured, loud enough for her to hear. She actually snarled her engine at him, her expression dangerous, and his estimation of little Iaconian dockmechs rose again. 

Orion, on the other hand, looked ready to shake him. “If you don’t mind, Megatron, I’d like to actually get to _talk_ to my friends, not listen to you start another argument.”

He smirked, and made a mocking little gesture with one hand as he stepped backwards towards the doorway. “As you wish. Delightful to meet you - Ariel, wasn’t it?”

_“Megatron.”_

“Fine, fine.” 

Megatron paused as the door slid closed behind him, then very softly and _very_ carefully stepped around the edge of the spar around the comms room and dialled his audials up.

//-working for him? How can you-//

“-I know, I wasn’t happy about it either at first, but it’s him or no one, and I still need to buy my passage back. And I truly believe he didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”

//Tell that to Shellback. And Magpie. And Torque.//

“...I haven’t forgotten. I swear to you I haven’t. I only - there’s so much I’ve learned since I’ve been here, and some of it is heavy knowledge. They believe Iacon owes them a deep debt, and - I’ve come to believe they’re right.” Ariel held her silence at that for a long stretch, obviously unconvinced, and Orion sighed. “Anyway, I’ve come to like Megatron a little.”

 _Has he really?_ Megatron found himself straightening, pleased despite himself.

“He’s very charismatic, and passionate, and he cares about his people. He’s just a wrecking ball as well.”

The sound of Ariel’s laughter neatly drowned out the sound of Megatron’s engine backfiring in outrage. //Well, if you like him that much, I guess I’ll only beat him halfway to death,// she said, and Megatron seethed, half tempted to drag the Iaconian out by his audial spike. //He’s feeding you properly, isn’t he? And letting you get your recharge? That new body of yours must consume so much more fuel...//

“Indeed, the labor conditions here are better than at the docks, even considering how much fuel I need - well.” Orion’s vents huffed again. “Ariel, there’s more I need to tell you. About my body - what Alpha Trion did to me… the medic here, Sawbones, found a - a strange mechanism in my chest that he thinks may be the Matrix. And I’ve been having - dreams, or maybe visions, and - I - I think he’s right.”

//Orion?// For the first time Ariel’s voice wobbled. //What are you saying?//

“Sawbones says - he told me Alpha Trion used to be a senator, and that one day he disappeared along with the Matrix. And then I show up, stronger than even my new frame can account for, and this thing - Sawbones says Alpha Trion was looking to find or build a Prime, and that he succeeded.”

Over the comm Megatron thought he heard a thump. He was proven right when Orion’s worried voice asked, “Ariel?”

Faint, worried - //I just - how? He - made you into a Prime? That isn’t - possible, is it? The stories say the Matrix has to choose the Bearer.//

“Maybe the stories are wrong,” Orion said grimly, “or maybe it has chosen me, out of necessity or desperation. I don’t know. I don’t care. I don’t want to - to rule the globe or whatever it is Primes are supposed to do. I just want to get home to you and Dion.”

Listening to this, Megatron found himself angry all over again, the slow burn of indignation sweeping away the quick fury of having been insulted. _Nearly infinite political power at your fingertips,_ he raged in his head, _and you would throw it away in order to return to a safe, insignificant life? After all you have seen and all you have learned from us?_

_A Prime could take our rebellion to a revolution. A Prime could spread freedom to every city._

_A Prime could stop Iacon in its tracks._

_And he wants to_ waste _the luck he’s been given?_

Stormclouds gathered outside of the comms suite as Orion talked to Ariel, Megatron brewing himself into a truly shattering thunderhead of desperate rage. How dare Orion run away from something that could have liberated Kaon vorns ago? How dare he turn his back on everyone still suffering under the pedes of mechs who didn’t care if they lived or died? How dare he pretend to listen, to make friends, to respect the people Megatron worked alongside and then leave them in the dust instead of helping them to rise as one?

When the door finally slid open again, Orion stepped out into a roiling maelstrom - and the moment that Megatron laid optics on him, the storm broke.

“How _dare_ you!” Megatron roared, and his punch sent Orion flying back into the comms room and crashing to the floor.

Shocked blue optics stared up at him, Orion sprawled across the floor and frozen there, and Megatron advanced with his field striking lightning-fury everywhere it touched. Barely even a dent in that reforged face, and for a moment Megatron hated Orion so much that he could barely see.

“How dare I _what?_ ” Orion managed, slurring a little with alarm in his optics and yet he only pushed cautiously at the floor to sit up, careful, one hand raising as though to _calm_ the oncoming storm, and some small part of Megatron _still_ wanted to shake him for his terrible defence. Orion would have been shredded in the arena, and that only stoked his temper.

“I heard you!” Megatron bellowed, rattling the mismatched equipment in its braces. “You _coward,_ you could change the world as we know it, but instead you run back to Iacon like a frightened _slave!_ ”

That clearly stung, and the heat of Megatron’s spark was elated, spoiling for a fight that he could really savour. His fists clenched, pedes braced out of arm’s reach if Orion should regain his own footing, but the Iaconian only sat on the floor and stared at him. “What are you - change the world? _Me?_ Are you crazy?”

“You have the Matrix! You are a Prime, and I don’t care if you like it or not - you could do so much with that _alone_ when we have fought and bled and _died_ for what little we have-!” Flickers of sparklight glittered and caught the edges of Megatron’s optics, hooks of lightning tearing at his vision - sparklight spilling out into the merciless lights of the arena, leaking in cracks and droplets of lifelight from under a mine collapse, so many, _so many,_ so many he couldn’t save...

“Do you really want another Iaconian tyrant running around?” Orion’s voice intruded into the wash of energon flooding Megatron’s vision, coming from somewhere beyond the jagged lines of sparklight forever linked to his, high and panicked. “You’re not making any sense!”

“I don’t want a tyrant!” Megatron howled back, fists clenched so tightly his arms shook. “I will throw myself into the smelter before I become a slave again! If we must have a Prime, I would have the idiot who dives under loader arms and starts orgies in a medbay and listens to my people!”

Orion rocked back under the lash of Megatron’s words, pushing himself to his pedes as though against a ravaging gale. “Don’t I get a choice in this?” he snapped, fire starting to spark to life in his optics. “I don’t want that kind of power, I would give it up in an instant before I became the kind of person who takes all this for granted!”

“You are already taking how the world is for granted!” Megatron snarled, pressing in to force Orion to back down, bringing the weight of his field to bear. “Do you really think that will be the end of it? That you can say no? That your no will be _respected,_ that ‘no’ is all it takes, and you will never be forced? It happened to all of us! At best they will kill you and take the Matrix from your shell to make their own puppet Prime.”

_Orion’s lifeless frame, expressive mouth slack with surprised betrayal, grey and empty. Another spark to add to Iacon’s debt, the city that devours its own._

“You don’t know that won’t happen anyway,” Orion argued, though his voice was quieter, less certain. He might not have wanted to believe it, but the idea clearly wasn’t new to him. Megatron was saying aloud things he’d shivered at in the dark of the off-cycle, that he’d convinced himself couldn’t be true in the light. _Well, no more._ “What do I know of statecraft? A dockworker Prime - I wouldn’t survive my first day!”

“Statecraft can be learned,” Megatron growled, the gale-force of his rage tamping down slowly, coiling in on itself as thunder muttered far away. “Do you think we overran Kaon in a single cycle? Do you think we were practised in negotiating our own trade routes, or haggling for our own business deals? _You can learn._ ”

And, Megatron realised slowly, like the arc of lightning finding ground, he wouldn’t be doing it alone.

“...........what?” 

Orion’s voice was almost timid, small and uncertain in the ringing silence of the storm’s eye. It took a moment for Megatron to realise that he’d said it aloud.

“You wouldn’t be doing it alone,” he repeated slowly, rolling the words around in his mouth to gauge the taste of them. Prickly with lightning-promise, ozone and change on his glossa - yes. He could work with this. A smirk began to tug at the corner of his mouth, an infinitesimal promise of light and the rain coming. “Well, I can’t let an Iaconian tyrant become Prime, now can I.”

“No,” Orion said softly, hope and a kind of wonder overtaking his expression as he looked back at Megatron’s face. He hadn’t budged an inch, never retreating even as he denied his worth, Megatron realised. _The stubborn little glitch. ...I suppose now I do have to like him for that._ The promise of a smile sparked into a fierce grin, and Megatron took a half-step back and offered his hand.

Orion hesitated a moment - and Megatron felt a strange sort of dislocation, as though the world had taken a sharp right turn underneath him, watching Orion’s optics flicker with an unnaturally crystal clarity. 

Then Orion moved, and clasped Megatron’s gauntlet, and there was solid metal under Megatron’s pedes once more.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before saying farewell to Kaon, Orion has a few things to do. Goodbyes to say. Promises to make. Orgies to attend. A certain prickly, arrogant former slave to _light it up_ with.
> 
> ...Orion plans to make this farewell a long one. :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mostly (plug&play) porn. If you're not here for that, you won't miss much if you skip. If you are here for that, well...
> 
> ~*~*~*~YOU'RE WELCOOOOOME~*~*~*~

“I’m telling you,” Megatron grunted, “Iacon is only a few steps behind us. Or the Dead End, one way or the other.”

They hauled the massive chunk of spar up onto the loader, and Orion took a moment to give him a flat look. “You exaggerate.”

“I do not.” Megatron let the spar fall the last few inches, and Orion swore as he narrowly avoided having his fingers pinched. “The Iaconian investors were very interested in the Barons’ business practices and hoped to implement them in their holdings back home. In just a few short stellar cycles - who knows? You could have found yourselves as bound in servitude to your employers as we were.”

“If union protections were shattered, perhaps I would have started a workers’ revolution,” Orion answered loftily, and grinned at the dubious look Megatron shot him. “All right, Ariel would have started it, and I would have been her chief of administration.”

“For not being a flier, you certainly do launch yourself into flights of fancy,” Megatron observed, but Orion caught a smirk at the corner of the Kaonite’s mouth and quietly patted himself on the back.

“Not in the slightest,” he replied, then conversation paused as the loader rumbled eir engine meaningfully and they shifted out of eir way. “I doubt the Barons would have allowed anything like the union protections we have at the docks, but they work - well, mostly. They were starting to show wear around the edges even when we came online, but that’s the thing about slow change...”

“You don’t notice how hot the smelter gets until you’re at melting point,” Megatron said grimly, and Orion winced. He hadn’t forgotten the words Megatron had used before, and privately thought they would haunt his recharge on bad off-shifts.

_I will throw **myself** into the smelter before I become a slave again!_

“It might not be a bad idea to set up something similar now, and bed it into anything else you build up to keep Kaon running,” he said slowly, feeling his way through the idea. “I can ask Ariel and Dion to send through copies of the union agreements - Rattletrap was the best union mech to talk to if you wanted to get things done. Ei’s as much of an idealist as you are.”

Megatron snorted, shouldering past Orion to the next slab of broken struts that needed clearing. “An idealist? Hardly. I am a realist - I don’t see the world as even potentially perfect and golden. Anything we want to better ourselves, we will have to fight for.”

“Well, yes, but some things can come without fighting,” Orion argued, hurrying after him and bracing himself on the opposing side of the strut. They heaved, sidestepping heavily over to where the second loader had sidled as close as they could get. “Camaraderie, productivity that comes through working for each other - that doesn’t come from fighting, and that can build a union that will stand together against any outside offers. Haven’t you heard of striking?”

As Megatron scowled over the idea, they hefted the strut up and onto the loader’s bed, and this time it was Megatron who almost lost a fingertip or two. The loader laughed at him, waiting her turn to get loaded up before she could set off after her fellow; ei would be heading back to replace her after getting eir load of strut-bits unloaded at the smelter.

“It’s not a term that I find familiar,” Megatron was forced to admit, and Orion grinned. “Is it close to what it sounds like?”

“No, no hitting involved,” Orion demurred. “You simply - stop working.”

It was more complicated than that. Strikes had to be organized, which was where the unions Orion had spoken of came in handy. Strikers had to make their demands clear - that was where a free media came in handy. And strikers had to trust that they wouldn’t simply be fired and replaced by more desperate or self-serving workers or set upon by Enforcers or any number of dirty tactics.

“There was a strike in the service sector last stellar cycle that failed,” Orion said somberly, bending to pick up the last strut. “I don’t know all the details, but apparently they goaded some of the strikers into attacking an Enforcer, or staged an attack - anyway, the Enforcers fell on them like a ton of bricks. Nearly a hundred arrests, four deaths in the chaos. And Iaconian service workers remain some of the most poorly-paid on the planet.”

Megatron frowned. Service workers weren’t as hardy as miners, nor as forbearing. Still - “I’d rather not rely on such tactics. I want comprehensive reform, not nibbling at the edges of corruption.”

“Well, that’s what you do when your power is in your labor. Our power may prove to be more substantial.” Orion fielded Megatron’s suspicious squint with a shrug. “I’ve been dreaming again. Verdandi is very informative.”

The suspicious squint didn’t shift. “Verdandi? Who is that?”

Of course Megatron would know that wasn’t a Kaonite name. ...or at least it wasn’t the name of a _currently embodied_ Kaonite. “She calls herself a psychopomp. We haven’t talked much about what that really means, but she has been explaining more about what a Primacy is supposed to represent to people.”

Megatron’s optic ridges drew together in a truly thunderous scowl. “A stranger has been talking to you about Primes in your recharge, is that what I’m to take away from this?”

“I think you’d like her,” Orion said drily. “She’s very practical. And rather inclined to punch Alpha Trion in the face for not explaining any of it, though I _did_ tell her I didn’t really let him.”

“Don’t be facetious!” Megatron pointed an accusing finger at him, somewhere in between pointing at Orion and pointing at the Matrix. “I don’t like the thought of some mysterious agent getting into your processor, Matrix-sent or not. I don’t trust that thing either.”

“She trusts you.”

Megatron paused at that, though he didn’t lose his suspicious scowl. “This - psychopomp, you said - she knows me?”

“She knows all that happens in Kaon, apparently. So yes, she’s familiar with your deeds, at least.” Orion finished securing their load in the hauler-frame’s truck bed and waved her off. “And I haven’t had a chance to ask what a psychopomp is - it has something to do with the Treks, I think, but that’s all I’ve gathered. Ask me again in the on-cycle.”

Megatron rumbled, discontent. “I dislike the feeling that I’ve been watched by an unseen entity all this time. Especially one connected to the Matrix.”

Orion shrugged carelessly. “If you believe the priests, Primus watches all of us.”

Megatron snapped a glare at him, growled, “Don’t mention that old story to me,” and Orion knew he’d been more careless than he intended. He nodded apologetically and bent his shoulder to work as the first hauler-frame rolled up again for a new load of fuel for the smelter.

*

 _Thou mayst at least reassure thy angry friend that I do not watch his every move,_ Verdandi told him, an amused smile playing about her expressive mouth. _I have much to do, and not all of it may be done in sight of his actions._

“I’m not sure that will actually do much to reassure him, but thank you,” Orion said gravely, and Verdandi laughed like hammers striking.

 _Well then, if I may not reassure him, mayhaps I can yet dismiss thy fears._ She sat on a jumbled outcrop - this cycle, the Iacon Grand Canal apparently butted up against the pit where Orion and Megatron had been working that day - and looked at him expectantly, one pede folded underneath her and the other braced against the floor. Orion moved to mirror her, finding a crate marked with the stamp of Iacon Docks’ Storage Yard 67 and gingerly making sure it would take his weight before perching on it.

“Well, first, would you mind telling me what a psychopomp is? I gather it’s something to do with the Treks, but I’m afraid I might insult you without meaning to if that’s _all_ I know.”

Verdandi laughed again, and some of the lingering tension over the question eased about Orion’s shoulders. _Not at all,_ she reassured him. _Psychopomps are...guardians, perhaps that says it best. I am Primus’ Hammer, defender of the sparks of Kaon, and I hold back the dark from overwhelming this deep place utterly._

Something ancient and weary touched her face then, and Orion wondered briefly just how long Verdandi had held her post. _The beating fuelpump of Cybertron,_ she murmured, with a strange touch of bitterness in her tone, then remembered herself and gave Orion a wry smile. _My apologies, young one. Long and long it has been since an enframed mech has seen me, and longer still has it been since I have spoken to a true Prime._

“Sentinel,” Orion murmured. “That was the name of the last Prime, wasn’t it?”

Verdandi actually growled. _Aye, though I would fain have his name stricken from that list were I empowered to work my will._

Orion watched her tense face and narrowed optics. “...so simply having the Matrix is no guarantee I will be a good Prime.”

 _Indeed not._ Verdandi sighed. _I have high hopes for thee. Thou art a kind spark, and a humble one, and this bodes well. Yet it is not given to me to see into the fullness of time, and many tyrants have had virtuous beginnings. Thou mayest become Cybertron’s salvation, or its ruin._

Orion shuddered. “That’s what terrifies me.”

He didn’t look up as Verdandi stood. The psychopomp crossed the few steps over to him and bent to take his hands, her touch warm and firm. _Do not dismiss thy fear,_ she said, smiling. _But do not let it paralyze thee. Thou hast friends and allies - Megatron, thy family in Iacon, every psychopomp in every city. Their sparks will light the way for thine._

Orion lifted his helm, taking in Verdandi’s smile. Slowly, he smiled back, and tugged Verdandi close enough that he could give her a gentle hug. “Thank you,” he said. “I can barely fathom the magnitude of the task before me, but with your friendship it doesn’t feel quite so daunting.”

 _I am glad._ Verdandi folded her arms over Optimus’s shoulders.

It seemed prudent then to tug Orion’s crate over to Verdandi’s vacated throne so they could keep cuddling, so that was what they did. “So there are psychopomps in every city?” Orion asked, his head cradled against Verdandi’s shoulder.

 _At least one of my brethren for every city - and some with two, as older cities are sometimes consumed by newer ones._ Verdandi smiled. _I will warn thee now, the psychopomp for Iacon, Hexadecimal, can be intimidating at first glance. He is true as steel, but he puts forth an unyielding face._

“...ah. Erk. Maybe it’s a good thing that Megatron can’t see you.” At Verdandi’s burst of laughter, Orion grinned sheepishly before another thought struck him. “Will Hexadecimal be there if I go back to Iacon with the Matrix?”

 _He would have greeted thee there already, if thy rest on the docks had not been so deep and dearly needed,_ Verdandi assured him, her chin resting against Orion’s helm and making his audial spikes buzz when she spoke. _He would waste no time in meeting thee elsewise._

“Oh.” Orion was quiet for a while, leaning against the prickle-hum solidity of Verdandi’s form. “I suppose...I just wonder if I’ll be a disappointment. You must have seen so many Primes...”

 _I have,_ Verdandi said softly. _I have seen many Primes come and go, and I am sure, Primus willing, I shall see many more. But, dear one - I remember every name, every face, the feel of every spark I have met. To be a psychopomp is to love them_ all, _regardless of how hard it is or how their actions hurt us in the end._

She shifted around Orion without letting him go, bending her head to look him in the optic. _Thou, I do believe, neither mean nor wish to hurt anyone, and shall always do thy best to make it so. And I should hope that I know thee enough that hearing this from my vocaliser, and from others, shall help foster that impulse for long ages after._

*

Orion had never made a speech before in his life. Looking out over the assembled Kaonites, feeling Megatron’s presence at his back, he wasn’t sure he wanted to start.

But if he was really going to do this, he’d have to start somewhere. Better to try and fail here, among friends, than to fail his first speech in front of outsiders.

“Everyone,” he began, and no, that was already wrong. “Friends… the next on-cycle, I return to Iacon.” There was a ripple through the crowds, a mixture of groans that heartened him. “But I will not return to my old life on the docks. You’ve probably heard the rumors already, so please allow me to confirm them: I carry the Matrix within me, and I intend to take up the mantle of the next Prime.”

The crowd rustled restlessly, and Orion caught more than one awestruck or disbelieving look that made him intensely uncomfortable. “I have enjoyed meeting you all,” he moved on quickly, “and listening to your stories of the revolution in Kaon has moved and inspired me deeply. I want to bring the same kind of change to my friends and my family in Iacon if I can. If I am successful, Iacon will no longer be your enemy but a strong ally in your struggle to build a free and open world for yourselves. I hope some of you will join me as I trek from Kaon to Iacon; I hope those of you who elect to stay behind and keep rebuilding your city will keep me in your thoughts, as I will keep you in mine.”

“That’s a load of slag.”

Orion startled, glancing around for the source of the words; beside him Megatron didn’t need to look, optics narrowing at one particular face in the crowd as his engine began to rumble. “Impactor.”

 _The miner from the loader raid? Why would-?_ Orion had barely seen the mech since arriving in Kaon, had simply assumed that as one of Megatron’s trusted and closest friends he was busy elsewhere, like Drift; where had this come from? The mech himself stood near the front of the assembly, arms folded over his chest and a look of disdainful unconcern marring his face. Blocky shoulders shrugged exaggeratedly as attention turned to him, the nearest Kaonites drawing back a little and radiating _Not us!_

“A Prime? Seriously? Come on, Megs, you’ve had your processor scrambled by one frag too many.” Megatron growled and started forward, but Impactor only shifted his weight to the opposite pede, offensively and deliberately not reacting as he watched the big mech approach. “He’s one Iaconian. What, he turns up and starts sweet-talking everyone and now he’s the Prime? He’s gonna go back to Iacon and forget us, that’s what he’ll do. He’s had a bit of the Kaon boom and now he’s leaving. We’re better off sticking to our own-”

Megatron slammed into him shoulder-first, knocking Impactor back a step. “If you had bothered to pay attention,” Megatron snarled, projecting his voice so everyone could hear, “I _haven’t_ been joining in on the orgies, and I can safely say that I am being objective when I tell you that Orion will never forget us.” That started a low rumble of agreement through the crowd, drowning out the odd murmur wondering if Impactor had the right of it. Orion glanced over the stirring mass of Kaonites, feeling any control he’d had over the situation slipping rapidly through his grasp, and was warmed down to his spark seeing Winch and Diamondback, Feedback and Blastburn arguing and nodding and waving to him from the crowd.

_I have to do something, I have to prove that they’re right to trust me - but what? What do I do?_

“Hey.”

Orion nearly leaped right off their improvised stage after Megatron, darting a glance down at the mechanism suddenly standing beside him. “Drift? Where did you come from?” _He certainly wasn’t there a click ago!_

The smaller mech shrugged, a gesture more full of deliberate nothing-to-see-here than Impactor could ever have managed. “Been watching you. Someone’s got to keep an optic on him.” Drift nodded towards Megatron, now arguing hotly at a provokingly don’t-care Impactor and the increasingly restless mechs around them, then tilted his helm sidelong up at Orion. “...think maybe you’re good for him. _Maybe._ ”

“Maybe?”

“Maybe,” Drift nodded. “If you’re real. You a good Prime or not?”

_Am I a good Prime, or a bad Prime? Or am I a dockworker who is severely out of his depth and just playing at the Primacy? Ignorance won’t only hurt me; it will hurt the people who trust in me. I can’t let them down._

_The first step is proving I am who I claim to be. I suppose I can’t be shy much longer. Whether or not Optimus Prime is real...I know who I am. I know Orion Pax is real. I know who I trust._

Taking a step forward, feeling Drift’s puzzled gaze turn to alarm as he reached up, Orion opened his chestplates in front of all of Kaon.

Shafts of crystal-blue light streamed out through the dimness of the pits, the Matrix blazing joyfully like a small sun. Megatron turned sharply, one fist still drawn back, and Impactor’s optics widened before he was forced to shade them and dial them down. Megatron glared into the light, then blinked in bewilderment - it didn’t sting his optics at all, no matter how dim the lights of Kaon were away from the spotlights on the bridges. More and more Kaonites were blinking into the light, awed and falling silent or whispering together, hands finding hands and shoulders pressing together for reassurance.

“I’m going to have to prove my claim over and over, I’m sure,” Orion called, and was shocked when his voice echoed back to him off the walls of the work pit. “So I might as well start now.”

“Orion, what are you-” Megatron burst out, but Orion was already stepping down from their improvised stage and approaching them, chestplates swaying slowly with his movements, and the Kaonites were parting before him.

“Go get ‘em, Orion,” he heard Blastburn whisper as he passed.

Impactor was the only one who didn’t look impressed. “Yeah, yeah, it’s a pretty light show,” he said, and fielded multiple _are you crazy?_ looks with a snort. “That doesn’t prove slag. It doesn’t prove you’re anything more than you were when you first jumped onto the transport - a spoiled, self-centered Iaconian who thinks he can boss us labor models around.”

“That’s not true!” Demolisher pushed his way forward through the crowd, his hands clenched into fists. “You’re the only one who didn’t care that people died that day, Impactor. You’re the one who’s selfish!”

“So? ‘Bout time I got to be for once.” Impactor smirked, hands on his hips. “Just walk away, Iacon. Go enjoy your life of luxury while we’re working.”

He should have been irritated, Orion reflected as he let Impactor’s words sink in. Before all this had happened, he would have wanted to punch Impactor right in his smug faceplate. Now - now he could see the bitterness behind the words, the long vorns of deprivation and toil. Impactor was one who’d never had anything he didn’t take for himself. Orion’s very existence was a slap in the face to him.

“Impactor,” he said gently. “I am completely vulnerable to you right now. If you want this - take it.”

Impactor’s face went slack in surprise. “What?”

Orion spread his hands. “Iacon has much to answer for. If I am to stand in for its crimes, I have two choices. I can use this power - which I did not earn and do not deserve - to call my city to account. Or I can truly stand in for it, and let you decide what to do next. Do you want the Matrix? Do you want my fuel? Take it.”

The high, strangled noise Megatron made then barely registered, for Orion or for Impactor. The big miner looked like someone had snatched the ground out from under him, his optics paling from angry gold almost to white, his sensors flicking out uncertainly as though asking _does anyone else see this?_ as his gaze stayed locked on Orion’s face. “A-are you totally wingnuts? I do anything and I know what’ll happen.”

“Do you?” Orion held out his hands, slowly, his arms open wide. The gesture made his chestplates sway lazily back and forth almost flirtatiously, never entirely managing to shut away the Matrixlight, shadows playing back and forth up the pit walls. “I won’t stop you. I wouldn’t be able to move in time, if that’s what you choose. You don’t have to worry about that.”

Impactor bristled, though it lost some of the impact when his optics skittered from Orion’s face to the Matrix and back again with a wince. There was a murmur running through the crowd again, soft and low, frames pressing together for comfort - a protective ring of gladiators and miners was forming around them, optics hard to hide their fear, with Megatron pushing in close to hiss at Orion as though no-one else would hear. “Orion. _What are you doing.”_

Orion only smiled, his optics still on Impactor. “Sharing a little faith, Megatron. And listening to the people I’m supposed to serve.”

That stopped Megatron in his tracks, for all he was visibly fuming at just how Orion was going about it; Impactor seemed frozen, optics darting and his fist clenching indecisively, when a low voice husked from the circle of mechs around them.

“Fuel sounds good.”

“Frag it all, Drift, you too?!” Megatron snapped, but the smaller mech still elbowed his way past the ring of miners and gladiators and over to Orion’s side. He looked Orion up and down, squinting past the glare of the Matrix, and shook a knife out of his subspace and into his hand. Orion didn’t even tense, looking quietly down at the smaller mech with an acceptance that shook Impactor down to his core.

“As you wish,” Orion murmured, and the muttering of the crowd turned ugly - before Drift lifted his own hand and sliced straight down the length of his palm. He twisted his wrist, expertly cradling the energon beginning to seep from the scratch, and cocked his head at Orion to look up him from under the heavy brow of his helm. 

“Not got all cycle,” he muttered gruffly, and Orion’s optics brightened as he understood. Offering Drift his hand, he managed not to wince as the smaller mech cut more deeply into Orion’s own palm and energon readily welled up. Drift’s hand braced his, once the knife had been returned to subspace, the small hand resting against the backs of Orion’s broader fingers holding Orion steady as Drift brought Orion’s hand to his mouth. There was nothing overtly ritualistic or sensual about it - Drift simply sipped the welling energon from Orion’s hand as neatly as a cybercat, then pressed the already-solidifying energon marking his own hand to seal the cut on Orion’s. Sharing nanites, sharing fuel.

“That’ll do,” he said, his voice quiet and suddenly awkward as though only now realising they were under scrutiny.

Orion was smiling helplessly at him, which didn’t help the awkward one iota, but at least the crowd was calming down. “Thank you,” he murmured, and Drift looked at him like he was speaking moon language. “I know you weren’t fond of me at first - that you would trust me this far means the world to me.”

“Megatron thinks you’re legit,” Drift shrugs. “Doesn’t mean you won’t frag it up, but at least you’ll try.”

“True on both counts,” Orion admitted, and gave Drift a glance that read almost anxious. “You’ll tell me if you think I’m fragging it up?”

At that, Drift flashed the first smile he’d shown since Orion had met him, sharp-edged and dry. “Megatron’ll tell you I’m always good for that.”

“I knew he liked you for a reason.”

Warm laughter rippled through the crowd - they too were familiar with Drift’s unflinching bluntness. They surged closer, chattering, encouraging, celebrating, and Orion turned to welcome them, optics bright. The only one left behind this time was Impactor.

“Frag this,” he burst out, flinging his hands skyward. “Do whatever you want, just don’t come crying to me when it all goes to slag.”

“Impactor.” Megatron started after him, but subsided when Impactor angrily waved him off. “...well,” he sighed, and wouldn’t meet Orion’s gaze until he reasonably sure he’d mastered his expression.

Impactor was one of his oldest friends. It didn’t feel right to leave him like this. Chasing after him would only bring the crowd’s attention to him again, but leaving the mech to fester...

Either option would end poorly, but inaction was worse than a poor action. Megatron clapped Orion’s shoulder encouragingly, and left the mech to handle his adoring public. Knowing him it would all end in an orgy anyway.

*

It did all end in an orgy, but things - and people - had calmed down by the time Megatron came back from what was part serious political discussion and part bar fight with Impactor. The differences in their communication styles may have been extreme, but Impactor at least felt that his grievances had been heard, and was reassured that Megatron hadn’t been seduced away to a life of luxury and access to the Iaconian libraries through Orion’s interference.

To his dismay, Impactor discovered much later that it was this same conversation that had sparked an idea that Megatron voiced when he caught up with Orion again.

“Impactor won’t be the only one, you know.”

“Hmm?” was his only reply, Orion’s voice thick and sleepy with static and somewhat muffled.

Megatron glanced over the tangle of frames, then let out a put-upon sigh before bracing his fists on his hips. “I swear I can’t leave you alone for five clicks...” He nudged an outflung arm with his pede, and a snoring Winch let out a sound like rattling flaps and rolled over. Poking shoulders, pushing at frames and tweaking audials by turns, Megatron worked his way through the knotted sprawl of bodies until he reached Orion, then settled on his heels to talk as the other mech blinked contented blue optics up at him. “I _said,_ Impactor won’t be the only one to very loudly point out that they have no proof you’re a Prime.”

As floppy as he already seemed to be, Orion still managed to droop. “I was hoping that would be the end of it. Everyone else seemed convinced...”

Megatron couldn’t help snorting. “Anyone in Kaon who hadn’t been part of a cable party with you has been with someone who _was,_ and if they wanted the chance to share charge with you - well, it seems like you’ve done a very thorough job here already. No, I mean in other cities like Kaon, not Kaon itself.”

Orion squinted at him. “It sounds as though you have something in mind.”

Megatron grinned back at him, satisfied and gleaming. “Well, you don’t have to go back to Iacon right away, do you?”

Orion hesitated. He ached to see Ariel and Dion again, to feel that sense of safety and home, but… “No,” he admitted slowly. “There’s no reason we can’t take a detour.”

“Let’s go on a brief tour of the surrounding cities.” Megatron leaned closer as he explained his plan, the burr of his voice doing delightful things to Orion’s pulsing sensors. “Simfur’s just a canal ride away, and it’s situated right on the Sea of Light. We’ll meet mechs from all over the planet there, and perhaps hear about conditions in other cities. From there - Polyhex, Uraya, maybe Tarn if we have time. Then back to Iacon, armed with new knowledge and, potentially, new allies.”

He grinned as Orion’s optics lit with interest. “I’ve never been as far as Simfur before. Or Polyhex - I’ve always wanted to go. It’s supposed to be beautiful.”

Megatron thought about dismissing this as irrelevant, but - Orion looked so wistful. And he was holding Megatron’s hand. When had that happened?

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Megatron nodded, and completely failed to untwine his fingers from Orion’s. It hadn’t gone unnoticed, either, and Orion’s wondering smile only grew.

“I realise I may be overstepping,” he said rather carefully, and Megatron wondered in turn at the warmth and strength in Orion’s hands as he squeezed gently and their palms brushed. “I’ve not seen you at any of the gatherings with anyone particularly close to you, or seen you at any of the orgies at all - I did wonder if you were pair-bonded with Drift at first...”

Megatron snorted, then rather quickly made to explain his reaction as Orion’s optics narrowed at the implied insult - to a mech Orion barely knew, at that. “No, we aren’t ‘facing. Or emotionally involved, not the way you’re implying. It’s an...odd sort of relationship, but I’m not looking for interface from Drift and he isn’t looking for a bond from me. I rather think he has his spark set on someone back where he came from, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

“ _Oh._ ” Orion’s optics widened, and Megatron poked him before he could head off into some romantic imagining or other that would horrify Drift if he ever heard of it. “-er, yes. Well - I was wondering if you wanted to ‘face at some point - it doesn’t have to be now, I don’t want to simply drop this into your lap and have you make a snap decision, so to speak. Just - let you know that the option was there.”

Megatron blinked. “You’re very blunt, aren’t you?”

Orion shrugged uncomfortably. “I find that’s the best way, when it comes to interfacing - no risk of misunderstandings that could lead to someone being hurt. I apologize if I overstepped; I won’t bring it up again.”

Megatron held up a hand, and Orion stilled, watching him with a patient, steady attention that Megatron found rather flattering. He got the feeling Orion could wait until the end of the universe for Megatron to speak again, and even longer if Megatron said ‘I’ll give you my answer later.’

But even if Orion’s patience would stretch that long, Megatron’s didn’t. “I’m not accustomed to interface in public,” he said slowly, optics flickering around the drowsing mechs surrounding Orion. “I prefer privacy.”

Orion followed his gaze, then carefully extracted himself from the Kaonites and stood. “Take me somewhere private?” he asked, and his hand, still wrapped around Megatron’s, trembled faintly with eagerness.

“Yes.” Megatron helped him balance as they moved away from the new Prime’s orgy-mates. “It’s about time I saw what others see in you.”

*

The private space that Megatron brought Orion to turned out to be Megatron’s own quarters, a cave that seemed to have been carved out of the wall of an old barracks and kept more for sentimental reasons than practical ones. Megatron ducked inside, still leading Orion by the hand, and guided him in with a low murmur and his free hand between Orion’s helm and the ceiling until the other mech had his bearings.

The front of the cave-room seemed to have been created out of an old break and the slide of metal, then neatened up and the roof supported at some later date. The rest had been carved out of a natural fissure in the rock, making a hollow just big enough for a mech of Megatron’s weight class to move around easily - there was no storage, no additional lighting, just a pile of ragged mats that looked as though they had been torn from the berths they were originally attached to. 

“Don’t look so shocked,” Megatron said as Orion stared around himself. “I have more privacy here than I ever did in the miner barracks, and more comfort than I had in the arena’s cells. Besides, Drift keeps me company if I want it.”

Orion blinked. “But I thought you said-”

Megatron laughed outright, tugging at his hand to make Orion stumble forwards. “Not everything is about ‘facing, Orion, this cycle aside.”

Orion shook his head. “I apologize. Every time I think I have a handle on things, you remind me I have so much to learn.”

While Megatron was busy being pleased at that, Orion took the initiative and tugged him to the pile of mats. It was surprisingly stable when Orion sat down, and only wobbled a fraction when Megatron moved to join him. “Eager, aren’t you?” Megatron purred, leaning into Orion’s shoulder and letting his hand fall naturally onto Orion’s thigh.

“I’ve been wanting this since the first time you found me with my ports full in the medbay,” Orion answered with a flush of heat through his field but absolutely no shame. “I was flying high with charge, it was all I could do not to - say something foolish.”

“Something foolish?” Orion’s plating was warm under Megatron’s fingers as he stroked. Nowhere near the seams of his port covers, not yet - he had some manners, and he liked the slow buildup. “Like what?”

Orion’s optics flickered as he smiled. “Like, come and see if I can handle being a hub for five. ...Come see if an Iaconian can make you cry out.”

For a moment, Megatron’s processor was overtaken by the memory - Orion’s ports rich with charge and heavy with promise, the hope in Orion’s optics - and ran on for a moment longer with the _what if_. What if he had gone to Orion right there, in front of his people, joined in with the others?

...no. “Why don’t we see if you can,” he replied, since the thought of overloading _with_ Orion instead of at the whim of some nameless, faceless Iaconian did far more for his interest than he’d ever thought possible. Whether Orion picked up on the slight stress of _you_ and what it meant, Megatron didn’t care to examine - either way, broad, strong hands reached for him, one curving around the hard edges of Megatron’s waist, thumbs stroking over arena-grade plating with a kind of honest appreciation that Megatron had never felt before.

“I’ll certainly do what I can,” Orion said gravely, and shifted on the layers of mats to straddle Megatron’s lap as Diamondback had done with Orion in the medbay. Being able to see Orion’s face made Megatron’s charge leap, his own hands adjusting to spread across Orion’s thighs and run up and down the smooth metal. New and smooth, strong enough to catch a loader arm, to defend his people, and Megatron tightened his grip just enough to squeeze and show his own appreciation.

“I want to spar with you sometime,” he murmured, and Orion laughed in surprised delight. 

“That’s what you think of, right now? Clearly I’m not distracting you enough.”

“You are distracting me thoroughly,” Megatron rumbled, then his processor blanked to nothing as Orion leaned down to kiss him. Smooth lips pressed against his, angled to open slightly and draw on his own, tasted the startlement on his lips and the crackle of sensors firing into hyper-awareness, then drew back as Orion ended the kiss and licked his own lips and _oh dear everything_ Megatron was in trouble, following Orion’s mouth as it drew away like a mech in a stupor.

Orion smiled, optics crinkling at the corners with pleasure and pride. “I must be doing something right.”

Megatron blinked back to himself and revved his engine. “Not if you keep stopping,” he growled, and dragged Orion closer by his aft. Orion’s laugh was consumed by Megatron’s kiss, fierce as he’d ever been in their arguments, and Orion gladly melted into it. His hands roamed over Megatron’s backplate, questing, never satisfied. Megatron purred his appreciation, optics slitting as he explored Orion’s mouth as thoroughly as Orion was exploring his plating. The Iaconian was intoxicating, overwhelming and yielding to him all at once, and Megatron’s grip tightened on Orion’s aft almost without his conscious direction.

Orion’s engine picked up - his mouth and glossa occupied, he couldn’t shape his words, but the low, powerful rumble and the hum from his vocalizer told Megatron well enough how Orion liked this. _What else do you like?_ he thought, gloating over the treasure in his hands. _I look forward to finding out._

He began by exploring Orion’s aft, just to be thorough. Heavy angles he could spend cycles admiring, thick plating that shivered when he traced his fingertips delicately over the seams of hip and waist, and - just because he could - spreading both hands across Orion’s aft and squeezing to make the other mech jump and purr into his mouth. Kneading at pale plating, teasing at Orion’s shivery inner thighs to feel them clench tighter around his hips, squeezing and working his hands restlessly until Orion moaned out loud and pulled away just enough to rest his forehead against Megatron’s heavy helm.

“I’d almost think,” he panted, and Megatron grinned in triumph even as he realised his own fans were racing, “that you wanted to overload me from tactile alone.”

Now _there_ was a thought to file away for later. “I could, if you wanted,” Megatron purred temptingly, and was gratified to see Orion shiver all over again. He smoothed both hands down the more lightly armoured span of Orion’s back, black on silver until he could wrap his hands around Orion’s aft again - the other mech laughed softly, shifting to rest his helm on Megatron’s shoulder and, Megatron was delighted to find, push his aft further into Megatron’s hands.

“I’m beginning to think you have a preference,” Orion teased, and Megatron was about to argue that there was absolutely nothing wrong in appreciating an aft as perfectly-fitted to his hand span as Orion’s was, when that clever mouth started nibbling and sucking on his throat and words escaped him all over again.

Megatron wasn’t about to lie back and let Orion have his way with him, but it was disturbing how tempting the thought was. Equally tempting was the thought that if he bore Orion down to the mats, Orion would _let_ him, encourage him even. Except that would mean stopping the lovely, warm mouth on his throat, and that wasn’t - wait. Orion was _stopping._

“I almost forgot,” Orion explained apologetically to Megatron’s offended frown. “Is there anything you don’t want me to do?”

“...what.” Megatron’s processor was having a hard time rebooting into a state where words could be managed.

“Any places that you don’t like being touched? Any actions you’d rather not have performed? I only want to do things that feel good for you,” Orion explained quickly.

Megatron stared at him. “Is this an Iaconian thing?”

“I would hope it’s an everywhere thing…”

 _Primus, this mech._ Megatron thought, staring at Orion’s clear, worried optics. _I don’t know whether I want to preserve his innocence or destroy it._

“...leave my helm alone,” he said slowly, just to see what would happen. “I don’t care for having it grabbed.”

Orion nodded, a relieved smile breaking over his face, and he surged up to thank Megatron with a kiss. “I’ll remember,” he promised, and Megatron could almost see him inscribing it in his memory.

“Good.” Megatron let a smirk play over his face. “Now if you wouldn’t mind continuing…?”

“Not at all,” Orion replied, and the glitter in his optics really should have warned Megatron that he was underestimating the mech. Orion pressed another open-mouthed kiss to Megatron’s neck, humming contentedly, his hands roaming leisurely over Megatron’s back and shoulders as Megatron curled his fingers to investigate the juncture of aft and thighs. Let no mech say that he got distracted part-way through.

Megatron lost himself in mapping out Orion’s plating; Orion’s aft fit perfectly in his hands, of course, but it didn’t do to rush. He stroked over powerful thighs, gripping tighter when he found that it made Orion tremble, and hissed through his vents at the squeeze of his treads and the kisses he received in turn. He found and rolled Orion’s tyres under his palms, oddly tickled by the trackless wheels and the heavy-duty treads - solid and serviceable, but almost delicate compared to the immense wheels and tank-treads he had been used to in the mines. Squeezing and rocking Orion’s tyres, working them between his fingers, had Orion making noises into Megatron’s shoulder that he _had_ to hear again, pushing his own thighs further apart to spread Orion’s legs and reach more rubber.

“I’m willing to bet you’re a cuddler,” Orion panted. Megatron pretended he had no idea what Orion could possibly be implying.

Gravity overcame them both: they fell to the mats together, Megatron gripping Orion’s tyres, Orion unable to take his mouth from Megatron’s jaw. Their legs hooked together, Orion’s back tyres squeezed against Megatron’s legs, and remind Megatron to get to _those_ when he had half a nanoclick.

Orion reached up, gripped his shoulder with a trembling hand. “Megatron, I want-” he whispered urgently. “I want to trade plugs with you.”

On second thought, maybe he’d save those tyres for next time. “Show me your plug banks,” Megatron ordered in a lower, rougher voice than he’d meant, but the bright flare of Orion’s optics proved he was excited by the tone rather than intimidated - not that _anything_ intimidated this mech. Orion leaned back, slid a hand down his own side, and his hatch covers retracted, revealing a line of ports that crackled with eager charge.

“Lovely,” Megatron purred, running a fingertip down the edge of the hatch. “You can take a class beta-six plug, I trust?”

Orion glanced down, his optics following Megatron’s hand hungrily as it traveled to Megatron’s own hatches. “I - there doesn’t seem to be a class of plug I can’t take,” Orion managed. “My own plugs are the same way - infinitely adaptable. I think it’s another - Prime thing.”

“ _Well._ ” Megatron’s optic ridges hit the heavy brow of his helm, then his rapt expression turned wicked. “Something to explore, then.”

Before Orion’s puzzled, wanting expression could become a question, Megatron’s fingers stroked lightly over the line of plugs and their sparking charge leaped to ground through his hand, much like Orion’s hands clutching convulsively at Megatron’s sides at the touch. “I wonder,” Megatron murmured, and circled a fingertip around the rim of one of the plugs; Orion moaned, his head falling back against the mats, and Megatron watched in fascination as the plug he’d chosen tried to transform to meet his finger, tiny parts shifting and interlocking to chase his fingertip.

If Orion’s arching squirm was any indication, it felt as good to him as it looked.

“I wonder,” Megatron murmured, running the flat of his fingertip around the port again; Orion cried out, his optics stuttering. “I wonder if I could fill your ports with my fingertips, those I can’t occupy with my plugs. I wonder if I could stroke inside you, if you would reform around me and let me in...”

“I would,” Orion blurted, writhing under Megatron’s weight and his voice full of static. “I want to, as much of you as I can take, everyone - to connect to everyone and keep them with me, make all of you feel...”

His voice cut out as Megatron set his fingertip to the port he’d been teasing, and the testing pressure he set to the sensitised rim lasted only a moment before infinitesimal interlocking keys shifted and slid and adapted until, almost without meaning to be, he was braced over Orion with his fingertip delicately brushing against the hidden, protected jack at the deepest part of Orion’s port, the minute teeth of portkeys latching into the joints of his finger and locking them together.

“Amazing,” he murmured softly, and twitched his fingertip - all the movement the keys would allow - and stroked Orion’s innermost metal.

Orion _whined,_ loud and shameless, head thrown back against the mat as he arched. Megatron was amazed - the portkeys themselves weren’t supposed to be particularly sensitive, was this another Prime thing? - until Orion met his optics again, bright and pleading and Megatron understood. It was the act Orion craved, not the sensation. Intimacy. Surrender. Trust.

Damned if it wasn’t doing it for Megatron as well.

“I wonder if I can make you overload just like this,” he purred, smirking in the fashion that said _he_ was in the driver’s seat, thank you very much, and he’d make sure his partner enjoyed the ride. “You look ready to spend your charge over my fingers, Orion.”

“Oh, Primus, say my name like that again,” Orion groaned, fingers curling around Megatron’s wrist.

Megatron allowed Orion to grip him, leaning in to touch their forehelms. “Say mine first.”

Orion’s voice and engine redlined with desperation. “Megatron!”

 _“Orion,”_ Megatron whispered, and pressed his palm to Orion’s port array, drinking in the resultant flare of charge. Orion arched up against him, legs locking around Megatron’s back and hot plating pressing tight; Megatron fixed his optics on Orion’s face, drinking in the solar flare of his field and the clutch of his body. There was poetry in this, this meeting of parts and melding of fields, this _coming together_ instead of the usual demanding pull and reluctant, torn-away surrender...

Orion’s mouth found his in a burst of heat and wet steam, and Megatron rode the edge of overload without having so much as touched his own plugs. He pressed Orion down into the layers of mats, pushing in closer, trying to interlock himself with Orion’s frame; Orion’s hand grasped at his back, pedes pulling Megatron’s aft down and in against the cradle of Orion’s body, his free hand skating over Megatron’s side and fumbling for a connection.

“Steady,” Megatron gasped, struggling to remember the command to open his own hatch and let his ports unfurl. It took far too long, his control fraying under the scrape of metal and Orion’s kisses; finally, _finally_ his hatch released and his plugs fell free, already sparking in turn.

Orion reached for them, only pulling back at the last moment - holding himself down out of a desire to be polite rather than any real reluctance, given how he stared, and Megatron laughed at him gently as he took Orion’s hand and put it where he wanted. Orion’s fingers curled around his plugs, the Iaconian giving voice to a hum of delight. “All that charge,” he marveled, and Megatron laughed again. “You have so much power in you.”

“Miner. And gladiator,” Megatron reminded him, amused until Orion cast a strange, sad look his way.

“I know,” Orion admitted. “But I still think you’re unique. And impressive.”

“Says the new Prime,” Megatron pointed out dryly, but he was flattered, and when Orion smiled at him and introduced plug to port Megatron nearly went over the edge entirely, holding back his overload with monumental effort and a tight grip on Orion’s shoulder. He arched, hissing out a curse, as beneath him _his Prime_ writhed and cried out in utter, shameless delight.

“Shameless,” he ground out, almost a moan, and Orion laughed even as he bucked.

“Why should I have any shame?” Orion said, breathless and impish. “Shame over this never led me anywhere fun.”

Megatron meant to say something witty and clever, but another rising wave of charge rocked him and it came out as a wordless rumble of need. Orion didn’t seem to mind - he clutched at Megatron’s sides, strong fingers kneading at Megatron’s plating, and how had Megatron never known how much he needed this? His helm fell forward, pushing his face into the hollow of Orion’s throat and his shoulder, muffling the noises he made against dust-smudged plating as the charge between them rose like something unstoppable, like a storm, like a wave that would send him tumbling when it finally crested and broke. Under him Orion arched, strong enough to lift them both on the jumble of mats, and Megatron would swear afterwards it was that that sent him roaring into overload.

He only ever admitted to Orion it was really the way his Prime gasped Megatron’s name against his audial, breathless and intimate and _his._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Orion and Megatron World Tour kicks off with an explosive performance in Simfur! ...no actual explosives. But plenty of other kinds of violence, intimidation, and accidental miracles. Turns out phosphor-sprites have Opinions about well-meaning dockworkers. Who knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for canon-specific violence and Speeches.

Orion had waded into the crowd for hugs cycles ago, and Megatron was impatient to get under way. He leaned on the side of the transport and huffed as he watched Orion exchange hugs and handclasps and kind words with the assembled workers. He felt Drift pad up behind him, peering past his arm out into the docking bay. “Still at it?” he asked.

Megatron sighed. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.” Drift snorted and withdrew. Megatron went back to mentally counting helms - Winch, Diamondback, Paver, Gallondrum, so many others. Impactor wasn’t there. Megatron hadn’t really expected him to be.

Optimus, halfway through a third ‘one last hug’ with Winch, caught Megatron’s gaze. _This_ time he actually got the hint, and at least had the grace to send Megatron a ping of apology, but it still took a bit longer for him to wade free of the crowd again. “I’m sorry,” he said as he reached the transport ship’s ramp. “I’m ready to go.”

Megatron flashed a quick grin. “Good. Any longer and I was going to leave without you.”

Orion huffed at him, amusement of his own radiating out through his field, mingling with excitement and the sweet-sharp tingle of nervousness. “I don’t believe that for a moment,” he said lightly, but still scurried up the ramp like a newbuild when Megatron made a show of walking back to the sheltered control console on the deck. 

The transport didn’t have any kind of horn or noisemaker to mark their departure, much to Megatron’s disappointment, but Orion both obliged him and scared him half out of his plating by letting out an almighty _BWAAARNK_ of his own horns as they pulled away from the Kaon dock. That Orion almost fell over from laughing at him so hard didn’t help.

“Why am I doing this?” Megatron demanded of the universe at large, and promptly hooked his pede between Orion’s to sweep him to the deck with a yelp. “First! Combat training. _Then_ you get to honk your horn at anyone you please without worrying about the consequences. _Much._ ”

“Combat tr- what for?” Orion demanded, struggling to rise. Megatron let him get to his pedes before doing it again, smirking as Orion howled affront. “Megatron!”

“When you can keep me from doing that, I’ll believe you’re ready to go out in hostile territory,” Megatron informed him.

“What hostile territory?” Orion demanded crankily, sitting up and rubbing his helm. “I thought we were going to Simfur.”

“You are claiming to be the next Prime, in the company of a notorious revolutionary, and it is in many mechs’ best interests that you disappear before the rest of the commoners get any bright ideas.” Megatron put a pede on Orion’s hip, pinning him just to make sure he was listening. “There will be no territory that is not hostile, Orion.”

Orion’s vents fluttered and stilled as he gazed up at Megatron. “...very well,” he said quietly. “You’re right.”

“...I’m what?”

He was so shocked to hear that he let Orion escape. The hauler-frame rose to his pedes again, blue optics burning, face determined. “I’m ready,” he said with a brief race of his engine. “Do your worst, Teacher.”

*

The waterway that led to Simfur wasn’t exactly the Grand Canal. Narrower, less well-travelled, the long curl of the Manganese Mountains had made a series of multiple locks necessary which slowed their progress. Orion couldn’t help but think that was a good thing, if only to try and fit in what felt like a lifetime’s worth of gladiatorial training into a few cycles.

Megatron grappled with him, threw him all over the deck and taught him how to use his weight, his reach and his processor, perhaps the most important of all. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had refused to be left behind, and they tag-teamed Orion in bouts that made his head spin - how to fight alone against two smaller, faster, more experienced opponents was a hard lesson to learn, after a lifetime of _being_ one of the smaller ones. That, and he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t hurt them, _badly,_ if his inexperience sent him stumbling or knocked one of them over, or worse if he _fell_ on one of them.

Drift...Drift was still something of an enigma, but he had stood off to one side watching through Megatron’s lessons and the two smaller Kaonites’ bouts with his attention seemingly far away.

“Ain’t gonna work,” he said eventually, after cycles had passed and they were once again lowering the transport through one of the immense and rather rusty locks. Megatron grunted at him, his attention mostly on the heavy, solid handle he was hauling on to close the lock gates as Orion performed the same office behind their transport. “He’s more worried ‘bout hurting the twins.”

“Do you have a suggestion?” Megatron rasped, then huffed his satisfaction as the heavy gates slammed closed.

Drift smirked. “Spar. You ‘n me. Show him not to hold back.”

“...I like the way you think, my friend.”

Simfur glowed in the far distance. Another cycle’s travel and they’d be at the dock, facing a whole new city of potential allies and potential enemies. Orion _had_ improved, faster than Megatron would have expected, but his bouts were all technique and no force. If someone came at him with intent to kill he’d freeze, and lose his spark if one of his guards was just a fraction too slow. Just the thought of it made Megatron seethe, rage crawling through his lines.

The transport continued on its way, and Orion came trotting back to what the crew had started calling ‘the arena deck’. “Simfur can’t come soon enough,” he said cheerily. “What’s next on the curriculum?”

Megatron glanced at Drift queryingly. Drift gave him a nod of assent. “A demonstration,” Megatron answered. “Clear the deck.”

Orion obeyed at once, going to join the twins on the raised decking at the prow. “What are you demonstrating?” he asked, sitting down at the twins’ pedes. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker exchanged a dry look over his head.

“The most important lesson.” Megatron kept his optics on Drift as the smaller mechanism approached. “If you fail to learn this, Orion, you won’t survive your first real fight.”

He and Drift began to circle each other, engines upshifting, and he heard Orion protest, “But he’s half Megatron’s size! How-” just before Drift _moved._ He darted left then threw himself right, and Megatron cursed as he spun fast to keep up. As fast as Megatron was, throwing swift jabbing punches to force Drift to keep moving, Drift’s fierce grin didn’t falter. 

There was no taunting - there was no _time_ for taunting. Drift’s armour braced his original plating, conveyed sensation almost as well, and Drift had learned to fight wearing it. Megatron was almost looking forward to just how fast Drift may be able to move without the armour, but now was _very much not the time._

“Mind your pedework!” he roared, but Drift didn’t even falter, leaping over the leg Megatron swept out to trip him and promptly kicking him in the back of the knee. It didn’t even dent his plating, but it _did_ send Megatron’s pede slipping a little too far forward for him to recover quickly enough for gracefulness. He swung out an arm and managed to clip the smaller mech, sending him skidding across the deck in a rattling tumble of limbs; Orion cried out something wordless, but Drift tucked into a ball and rolled, throwing himself forward and back onto his pedes as Megatron advanced.

Dimly, past the focus on his combat partner, he heard Sunstreaker’s voice. “Megatron’s good - probably the best - and he’s heavily armored, but Drift’s scrappy and quick and _sneaky._ He keeps Megatron from getting complacent. See how he’s maneuvering in for his next attack?”

And he was, and Megatron snarled as he met his charge with a block and counter. Drift took it full-on, biting back a hiss of pain as metal clashed and sparked together. Orion’s vents gasped, too loud in Megatron’s perception. “They look like they’re really going to hurt each other,” he said softly.

“You have to be ready to cause pain,” Sunstreaker answered dismissively. “Or you may as well let that first assassin put a blade through your spark and save yourself offlining exhausted.”

“...you have a very straightforward way of looking at the world, Sunstreaker,” Orion answered as Drift took advantage of Megatron’s distraction to take out his knee and tackle him to the deck.

“Most things are pretty simple,” Sunstreaker answered over Megatron’s half-proud snarl. “And the things that aren’t, usually aren’t worth bothering with.”

Orion thought that over, quietly, as the crash and roar of Megatron and Drift’s tussle bounced off the sides of the canal. He didn’t want to see the end result of the fight, but Sunstreaker’s words resonated as much as the thump of pedes against the deck. It helped that when it was all over, Megatron wobble-stomped over to them and slid down with a scorching hot hiss of satisfaction, Drift draped over one massive shoulder like a bloody-faced and grinning scarf.

“Happy now?” Sunstreaker asked acidly, and Megatron grinned in turn.

“Acceptable,” he said mildly, and Drift thumped his shoulder in an instant. “All right, all right, truce. Your pedework is a lot better.”

Drift huffed, pride colouring his field ever so faintly, and let Megatron share his field repair kit in reward.

*

Orion tried to take Sunstreaker’s words to spark. He stopped pulling his punches so much, began to learn to trust they were skilled enough not to let him hurt them - which was true, as their skill far outstripped his own. He had his own strengths, though: his armor and strength meant he could withstand quite a bit before needing a break, and his patience in the face of their taunts was its own brand of impressive.

“You’ve improved,” Megatron told him as they docked in Simfur’s bay. “Perhaps you won’t be entirely useless in the event of an incident.”

“Thank you ever so,” Orion answered dryly, and leaned on the railing to take in his first sight of the city. “It doesn’t look all that different from Iacon, does it?”

“You would know more than me,” Megatron answered, and Orion winced at the reminder of what had happened the last time Megatron had been in Iacon. “Come. Your public awaits.”

That did make Orion’s tank lurch, and he took a moment to hold on tight to the rail and reassure himself of his footing as though he were bracing himself on the docks. “They’re not _my_ public,” he muttered, just to be contrary, and it warmed him a little to hear Megatron laugh.

Simfur’s docks were in some ways almost painfully familiar, and in others utterly strange. There was an odd mineral tang to the air and the dockworkers’ accents were broad and rolling - Sideswipe teased that they sounded a bit like Orion if he let himself go, which baffled the bigger mech, quite frankly - but cranes were cranes and swearing was swearing, and Orion found himself moving confidently through the dockside buildings to arrange a slot for their transport.

There wasn’t any real reason to be cautious, in Orion’s mind, but for all that the twins ranged about on either side of Megatron and Orion they were alert and watchful behind Sideswipe’s easy smile and Sunstreaker’s gruff annoyance. Drift disappeared, which did briefly alarm him, but Megatron only scoffed and clapped his shoulder.

“He’s around,” was all the big mech would say, and Orion had to be content with that.

They walked through Simfur like tourists, the Kaonites peering around at the port city and Orion enjoying being somewhere familiar. And then they rounded a corner and walked out onto a broad, open space bustling with people, and Kaonite and Iaconian alike stared without shame.

The Sea of Light glowed before them, moonlight pooled in the deepest hollows of their world, phosphorescence rippling soft and ever-changing past the universal battered metal of the docks. Orion heard Megatron catch his breath and Sideswipe swear softly, but he couldn’t tear his optics away.

“Beautiful,” he whispered. “What must it be like to live here? See this every day?”

“I’m sure it gets old after a while,” Sideswipe supplied. Sunstreaker, beside him, said nothing, but drew a datapad out and started poking at the screen.

Megatron moved up closer to Orion, letting their fields entwine as they stood shoulder to shoulder. “Where do you want to start?” he asked.

“If Simfur is anything like Iacon, all the best gossip is to be had in the oilhouses,” Orion answered quietly. “We should start there.”

“You just want to get a drink,” Megatron accused, nudging Orion with an elbow.

Orion chuckled, nudged him back. “A drink would be nice, but no, I just want to listen. Would you have been so willing to come with me if I’d barged into Kaon and started making speeches about Primacy?”

“I would have had you recycled,” Megatron admitted. His arm lingered against Orion’s.

“There you are, then.” Bathed in the Sea’s light, Orion turned to smile at him. “I want to know these people as I know your Kaonites. I need to speak to them where they live - address their concerns and praise their strengths.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d call you manipulative,” Megatron said mildly. “It’s a good trait to hold on to.”

“It’s not manipulative. I need to know _people,_ not stereotypes and statistics.”

“Well, come on, then.” Megatron clapped his hand to Orion’s shoulder, gesturing grandly with the other in the general direction of where the docks met the waterfront. “Let’s look for that drink.”

As they turned, Orion took one last lingering look over his shoulder at the glory hemmed in by the mundane, then moved out at Megatron’s side. Sideswipe nudged his twin, deliberately careful not to jog Sunstreaker’s hands, and waited patiently for Sunstreaker’s last few swipes of colour to be saved in the privacy of his datapad. Then they too headed after the two heavy-frames, and no-one noticed the delicate mist of light lingering over the Sea as anything out of the ordinary.

*

Megatron already knew that Orion made friends with an ease that utterly confounded him. What he hadn’t realised, or had the opportunity to observe quite as much in Kaon, was that Orion could feel perfectly at home in a dockside tavern and would proceed to drink half the other patrons under the table, join in with songs that made even Sideswipe fizzle with a blush of static, and promptly be adopted by what felt like the entire port.

_And he hasn’t even got to the orgy part of the evening yet,_ Megatron thought in some bemusement, a measure of thick oil half-forgotten in his hand and his optics on Orion. He was at home here, for all they were further out from Kaon than Orion had ever been - or Megatron himself had gone, for that matter. He watched, quiet and thoughtful, as Orion moved about the room talking to everyone from thick-plated lightsailors to local dockworkers to what looked like a rag-tag transport’s crew, a mishmash of Polyhexians and mechs with less easily-identified frametypes and accents. _I didn’t expect him to be leaving me in the dust, but I can’t say I mind._

“So you’ve worked in Crystal City, Iacon, and now here,” Orion was saying to the loader-class who was the current focus of his attention. “What do you think of Simfur?”

The loader shrugged. “I don’t know, things are rough everywhere, but the Enforcers here are really out of control. Even by Iacon standards.”

Orion’s expression darkened a fraction. “Excessively violent, or corrupt?”

“Both,” was the huffed reply. “If you can afford to buy them off you’re fine, but there’s fewer and fewer who can afford that, and they keep hiking their ‘service fees’ anyway.”

“Hey, they’re working the most dangerous job in the city!” barked another hauler from across the bar. “Keep your trap shut if you can’t handle paying for their services.”

“Taxes are supposed to pay for their services!”

“Would that be those taxes that are being mismanaged because people like you voted a bunch of shady crooks into office-?”

Orion’s companion jerked to her pedes, fists clenched; Orion stood as well, murmuring quietly and quickly into her audial. She subsided, but only reluctantly, glaring poison at the hauler who’d interrupted her, and Orion approached the mech at the bar. “‘Shady crooks’?” he repeated curiously.

The hauler harrumphed. “I’ll admit our mechs-in-badges get a little rowdy, but there’s a lot of crime in this city, and the corruption goes all the way to the top. Two of our Senators are actual, admitted crime bosses, and who knows how many more are in the same business on the side.”

“They stole those elections, we never voted them in,” muttered the loader Orion had left behind. She got a rude gesture for her trouble, quickly withdrawn when Orion gave his current conversation partner a stern, solemn look.

“It sounds as though you both are struggling,” he offered. “Your safety and financial stability are both threatened. Is that right?”

“...guess so.”

“That’s just how it is.”

“What if it didn’t have to be?” Orion asked, and though his voice remained quiet, every optic in the house turned to him.

“Awww, youngin, don’t start gettin’ idealistic,” an older mech mourned. “The whole planet’s goin’ dark, one micron at a time, an’ there ain’t nothin’ can hold it off.”

“I don’t believe that,” Orion said, quiet and intense, “and you shouldn’t either. How is anything ever going to change if we only accept the way things are?”

“That’s sedition, that is,” another voice muttered - rapidly hushed by the loader Orion had been talking to, her optic band glittering fiercely as she leaned forward.

“You hush up,” she said sharply. “I wanna hear this.”

“You going to run for office, then?” the hauler sniped, only to reset his visor when Orion straightened.

“More than that. I aim to find out the state of Cybertron - how things really are, not how we want to see the world. I don’t believe in the unchanging, or the inevitable, and neither should you - my friend here taught me that.”

Megatron smirked a little as Orion glanced his way, tipping his cube of oil in a mock-toast as glances around the room all flicked his way and brightened in shocked recognition. _The question is, am I the Terror of Kaon or a revolutionary to these people? One way to find out._

“This ain’t Kaon!” another hauler snapped, plating trying to both bristle aggressively and clamp down protectively close against eir frame. “We’re here to work, not play at bein’ war-frames!”

Orion moved to speak again, only for Megatron to stop him with a tight shake of his head. “For whom do you work, Simfuran?”

“What? For - for the Shipping Authority, why-”

“No.” Megatron put his cube down hard and rose to his full height. “For _whom_ do you work? Whom does your labor benefit? Are you enriched by it, vorn by vorn? Or are you beggared by it?”

The hauler stared at him, combative hands drifting down into uselessness; the other bar patrons traded glances around the room. It was clear Megatron’s question had a very definitive answer, and it was not one any of them had wanted to face.

“Hey!” The barmech had finally tuned into the conversation. “Take that seditious talk outta my joint. You’re gonna get us shut down.”

“Our apologies,” Orion answered with a brief bow. “Give us a moment to settle our tab and we will vacate the premises. Should anyone wish to continue this conversation,” he added, casting a cool blue glance around the room, “we will be happy to speak with you.”

Megatron drained the rest of his cube smugly as Orion paid up, and while the barmech was still puzzling over Iaconian credits the two of them exited side by side. “And you say I’m prone to speeches,” Orion teased quietly.

“If it had been just me I would have _really_ held forth,” Megatron answered, smug and shameless. “But I’m following your lead.”

“Your restraint is noted and appreciated.”

“My restraint is getting you to practise your public speaking,” Megatron replied cheerily, and Orion spluttered and elbowed him before the pub crowd could follow them out. They wandered gently back down to the dockyard proper, ever aware of Sideswipe’s excited field behind them and Sunstreaker’s measured pedefalls pacing alongside; Orion took a long, lingering look out over the Sea of Light and the glimmering haze softening the edges of the piers, the transports moored up against them rising and falling gently against the horizon line, then turned beside Megatron to face those who had followed.

He had heard the hissed arguments and the pedefalls following them down to the wharf, of course he had, but what looked like the _entire bar_ had followed them, and picked up a few more curiousity-seekers along the way. Optics and optic bands and visors watched them both, ranging from fiercely interested to accusing.

“Oh dear,” Orion said faintly, and felt Megatron’s muffled chuckle rather than heard it; the big miner’s arm pressed against his would have been comforting if it weren’t for Megatron’s clear amusement.

“Go on, then,” Megatron murmured to him. “I’m being restrained.”

“Not yet you’re not,” Orion muttered, and stepped forward. 

Orion began to speak, but that last comment quite impressively firebombed Megatron's ability to Can. He watched the interplay of light across Orion's broad shoulders and thick backplates and didn't hear a word the Prime-presumptive said.

_Wait. Is that light rippling on its own...?_

Megatron shifted, testing, but where his own shadow should have fallen over Orion's back he saw only light, as though Orion himself were glowing. He cast a glance at the twins - _are you seeing this?_ Sunstreaker didn't notice, scribbling in his datapad like a mechanism possessed of a virus, but Sideswipe gave him a wide-opticed look back and pointed behind them, at the Sea of Light. Confused, Megatron looked at the Sea, then back at Orion.

The glow surrounding Orion was the same. _The light-mist!_

That it was a trick, or an attack of some sort, was Megatron's first thought. His field flared as he scanned the area, looking for the cause, but nothing met his sensors but light, the blue-white glow of the mist that had always risen from the Sea. Orion lifted a hand to illustrate a point as he spoke, and this time Megatron could distinctly see the glow follow the motion, almost hypnotic.

Megatron met Sideswipe's optics again; Sideswipe shrugged. //Maybe it's a Prime thing.//

//I would sooner jump into the Sea myself than assume _anything_ about this is normal,// Megatron muttered back, narrowed gaze sweeping over the misty light behind them. The crowd had noticed his unease, to his chagrin, and it didn't take long for them to realise, one after another and then all at once. A whisper and the hum of comms started up, optics widening as even the doubtful paused.

"Prime," someone whispered, and the word caught like wildfire. _Prime._

The glowing mist grew brighter as if in acknowledgement, and this time Orion himself drew to a halt and glanced down at himself - almost comical, the way he did such an impressive doubletake.

"Megatron?" he wavered, looking over one hand as though not sure it was still his, and that thought struck Megatron to the spark. _Hardly surprising he might wonder, after all this!_

"I should say this was another sign of approval," Megatron said, loudly enough for the whispering, shifting crowd to still again. "Wouldn't you?" He strode over to Orion with no fear in his field whatsoever, reached out and clasped Orion's glowing hand firmly. _Even if this is some trick, I'll not let it have you!_

The mist around Orion thickened, less an ethereal glow and almost a physical thing, wrapping around him like an affectionate cybercat; Orion startled at something in the corner of his optic, then stared in wonder as the tiny phosphorescent sprites of the Sea perched on his shoulders, softly-shining motes of light that chimed out barely-heard joy. He still didn't look at all sure what to do, but that could be explained away as care and reverence after the fact. Orion gripped Megatron's hand tightly enough to dent a less well-armoured mech, relief meeting the confusion in his optics.

"Mechs of Simfur!" Megatron called, making a decision fast. "We travel in secret for now, but Cybertron has spoken in Kaon and now in Simfur - there shall be a Prime again!"

//Megatron?// Orion commed furiously, even as he lifted a hand to acknowledge the rising voices of the crowd. //This wasn't part of the plan!//

//Gladiator wisdom,// Megatron commed back. //No plan survives contact with the enemy. Besides, it seems Cybertron has its own opinion on the matter.//

"Cybertron," Orion murmured, optics dimming briefly. "Cybertron's voice will be heard, at long last. This is my charge, people of Simfur!" He stepped forward and Megatron let him go, let him be greeted as a Prime by the crowd.

*

Rumor, it was said, could fly faster than a comm signal. The crowd of bar patrons - the bartender among them, Megatron was interested to note - were joined by dockworkers, street toughs, curious sailors and thrill-seekers, seemingly half of Simfur gathering out of nowhere to catch a glimpse of the new Prime. As Orion determinedly waded in, exchanging words and handclasps with everyone he could, his bodyguard detail tightened their formation around him. "We should withdraw," Sunstreaker muttered. "There's too many people. Too easy for someone to slip through."

"We'll have to drag Orion away in a steelmesh sack," Sideswipe observed cheerily. "Look at him. I really think he's determined to talk to _everybody._ "

Megatron was inclined to agree with him until a third voice sounded in his comm: //Enforcers incoming.//

//Thank you, Drift.// "Orion, it's time to disperse," Megatron called. "It's too early for us to engage with Enforcers."

That, it seemed, was the magic word. For all the hauler's words of praise for Simfur's notorious Enforcers, nobody wanted to be on the wrong side of them. Mechs filtered away as easily and as quickly as they'd gathered, and a couple of worker-classes pointed the way to a safer exit along the docks for Orion and his group. "You'll stick out like a sore winch, though," one of them observed, with a critical flick of an optic over Orion's collection of phosphorescent sprites.

Orion looked briefly worried, then tentatively asked, "Little friends, will you return home now? I promise I will visit again." The sprites lifted from him, chiming just on the edge of hearing. "Thank you," Orion said gently as they flew away, the mist pulling back almost sorrowfully as if it too could understand, leaving him ordinary in appearance once again.

That, naturally, had the lingering Simfurans gaping, and another layer added on to the legend Orion was building all unknowing. Megatron hid his own incredulous stare in favour of shooing Orion along the narrow path that had been pointed out to them, Sunstreaker loping along in front and warning them of loose metalwork and rusted-out supports. Sideswipe clattered along behind, and as they rounded the curve of the wharf Drift commed again. 

//They're poking around the dock,// he reported. //Everyone local's vanished.//

//Don't get caught,// Megatron warned, then reasoned that the offended snort he received in return was entirely deserved.

They headed back to the transport by following the line of the Sea of Light, clambering between the piers stretching out over the phosphorescence and occasionally having to backtrack through the maze of storage units and lean-tos. Once Sideswipe yelped that they'd lost Sunstreaker, only to find him scrambling to disentangle himself from some kind of net and quietly turning the air blue. Now and then, when they found themselves only a vent away from touching the Sea itself, more of the little glow-bugs and sprites settled on Orion's helm and shoulders and wisps of light-mist lingered over his plating. Megatron only breathed a sigh of relief when they finally came in sight of the transport and their rented berth.

"I think that's quite enough for one day," he said quietly, and Orion didn't argue, tramping wearily up the ramp and into the hold. "Get some recharge. Sideswipe, Sunstreaker-"

"Usual watch shifts, we know," Sideswipe said with a casual salute, and they both scrambled for the ramp up to the top deck.

Orion half-fell onto a crate of supplies with a groan, lifting his helm as Megatron approached. "Will Drift be all right? I didn't see him at all on the way back."

"He'll be fine. He'd only be offended if you had seen him, anyway."

Orion's worries were not assuaged, but he subsided, and Megatron observed with some amusement how well Orion had learned his way around prideful mechanisms. "So," Orion murmured. "That was... that was a thing."

Megatron laughed. "You _are_ tired. Your usual eloquence has deserted you."

"I've done a lot of talking today," Orion grumbled. "I wonder if we can expect more of the same in the future. More... happenings."

_Miracles,_ he meant, but Megatron shared his reluctant to say that word out loud. "More importantly," he said, "people listened to you. They liked what you had to say. I think that today went well, don't you?"

"Mm-hm." Orion shifted. A cheeky mote of light peeked up around his hip. "...Ah. I appear to have a stowaway." Megatron laughed again as Orion offered his hand to the phosphorescent sprite. "I'm not staying long, little one. Don't you want to go and be with your friends?" The sprite alighted on his palm, chiming stubbornly. "Well, very well. I am always grateful for another friend."

*

The phosphor-sprite lingered by Orion for the entirety of their stay in Simfur. After that first exploration of the docks their party went back more than once, but never lingered in the same places for too long - Drift took to the rooftops and side-streets, watching out for Enforcers, and it seemed for a time that they could barely arrive in a bar or at a gathering before Drift was comming urgently for them to move on.

"I wonder," Orion said once, ducking out of the way of an incoming patrol with hard optics and prominent weaponry. "I wonder if they chase us because they object to what we're saying, or because we are strangers drawing a crowd."

Megatron shrugged in answer. "It could be anything," he said cautiously. "I don't wish to assume that Iacon has heard anything of us yet, but...it may be dangerous not to."

Troubled blue optics turned on him, but Orion said nothing. The question was answered soon enough regardless; pubs and taverns had been enough to meet people at the start of their visit, but now they were drawing attention purely for the amount of people trying to push their way into the building and spilling out onto the street. Orion had had to move out into an open space nearby instead, the crowd surrounding him and trailing along behind, and Megatron couldn't help but be amused that the early gatherings of the new Prime were being held in a dockyard smelling strongly of phosphor.

"So how do we know you're really Prime?" someone called up, and Orion paused on his way to one end of the yard - with a convenient alleyway to duck down if need be. Megatron and Drift had both insisted. "Anyone can say it!"

" _Anyone_ wouldn't get the light-mist groping 'em or the sprites sitting on their shoulder!" another mocking voice called back, but Orion lifted his hands to quiet the jeers.

"That is a fair question," he replied, and Megatron tried not to tense as broad hands went to his chestplates. "And one that is easy enough to answer."

A thin seam of light appeared between Orion's fingers, and the phosphor sprites _danced,_ whirling rapturously overhead. _I couldn't have asked for a better display,_ Megatron thought, softening a bit toward the ubiquitous little things. _Perhaps such tiny beings could be useful after all._ He smiled, just a bit, to himself as Orion opened his chestplates fully, exposing the Matrix to all.

Drift shouted a warning over comms, a moment before the scream of a laser blast cut the air, turning the phosphor sprites' dance into a mad, jagged whirl as Megatron _moved_. Shouts and cries of alarm filled the open space, but Megatron could barely hear it over Orion calling his name in increasing panic.

"Megatron? _Megatron!"_

Megatron laughed softly into Orion's shoulder, straightening slowly with the burn of pain in his back and easing his tight grip on Orion’s arms. "A trifle," he assured Orion. "I've had worse wounds in the arena."

"Not on my behalf!" Orion protested, gripping Megatron's shoulders in turn.

"If you insist on exposing your vital components in public, you have to anticipate things like this." Megatron patted his shoulder. "Look, the crowd's already apprehended the perpetrator. No harm done."

"What - oh, no," Orion groaned. "Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, can you see to Megatron? I need to deal with this."

With that, he left Megatron in the hands of the twins, making his way through the crowd to where a seething groundframe was being sat on by two other mechs. The mood was turning ugly - they'd tear him apart if Orion didn't intervene, and while Megatron wholesparkedly approved of the impulse, a death was the last thing Orion needed on his conscience.

"Let him up, please," he said firmly as he approached, and the heavy-frames busily flattening the other mech into the ground blinked up at him in confusion. "I need to speak to him."

"I got nothing to say to you," the attempted assassin spat, trying to thrash again; one of the light-sailors deliberately bounced their full weight on his back before they stood, and the grounder strangled a scream as something in his frame cracked.

Orion's optics shaded towards sadness, but he held off the impulse to bite at his lip or offer the mech a hand to his pedes. "I rather think you owe me an explanation," he said quietly, "given what you tried to do."

The crowd rumbled again, and for a moment Orion panicked that he wouldn't be able to hold them back, but no-one moved. The groundframe on the floor revved his engine, a rattle and thump to it that made Orion wince, and glowered up at him sidelong.

//Enforcers coming,// Drift commed to them all, his voice sharp and urgent. //Fast, heavy weapons too.//

_...ah._ "I assume the Enforcers coming closer are your allies in this," Orion said, and didn't miss the quick smirk that crossed the mech's face. "I see. Well. If you won't tell us anything more, then we shall leave you to their mercy."

He turned, the phosphor-sprites clustering in around him and clinging to his shoulders; the mech on the floor stared, optics widening, but Orion didn't notice. "There are Enforcers on their way," he called for the benefit of those who hadn't already begun to slip away. "I don't intend to encourage a riot, or to see if anyone else would like to shoot at us today." A reluctant chuckle ran around the group, but it took more words and Orion himself heading for a side-street for the group to disperse.

*

"I think we've rather overstayed our welcome," Orion mused over his fuel that evening. "It may be time to leave."

"We can't just run," Sideswipe protested. "They'll say you got scared off at the first sign of Enforcers!"

"That's been our strategy all along," Orion pointed out. "We were lucky enough to have only one injury today - what happens when they send more than one scout? What happens when they're armed with more than short-range blasters? Megatron could have sustained mortal injury today." Megatron snorted his opinion of that. "We've made our point. We should move on."

"We should go back to that dockside bar," Sideswipe argued. "Put in one last appearance. Reassure people you're not just abandoning them."

Orion gave him a troubled look, but as he opened his mouth to reply there was a mighty _thud_ against the side of the transport, the ship shuddering and rebounding against the wall of the dock and sending them tumbling.

"Engines, _now!"_ Megatron roared into the sudden silence, surging to his pedes. "That was a submarine frame - we're under attack!"

"How do you know?" Orion protested as the twins and Drift ran for their stations. "It could have been the dock settling."

Megatron gave him a grim look. "The Kaon pit bosses made use of Iaconian submarine assassins in the Grand Canal, when open warfare failed to stop us. I know the sound very well indeed."

Orion had no time to reply - the transport _lurched_ against its moorings and began listing to one side, slowly at first then faster and faster.

"They've breached the hull!" //Get off the transport!// Megatron snapped across the comms. //Take what you can, get onto the dock!// Suiting actions to words he snatched up a crate of energon cubes and ran across the hold, slamming his hand down against the panel to release the hold's door and the ramp; Orion staggered after him, grabbing up another box as the floor tilted and it began to slide.

Thumps and muffled cries from outside had Megatron shouldering out onto the ramp as soon as the door had opened widely enough for him to pass through; Orion clutched at a bulkhead and hooked a leg around the doorframe, anchoring himself as best he could. Megatron threw the crate of cubes onto the dock and reached for him, hauling Orion and his burden into the doorway and bracing them both there. 

"Move!" Drift yelled from the dock; his paint was scuffed and scratched, pistols in both hands and optics darting around as he circled, never-still. Sideswipe threw himself onto the dock as the transport shuddered and tilted even further, and Orion gulped at the sight of the hull rising up into view, pocked and stained from long expose to the acid in the canal. A fast, unwise glance back showed the dirty oils of the canal boiling up to meet them, dark and hungry as it filled the hold, and he clutched at Megatron as two pairs of huge, cold optics briefly met his.

"In the hold!" he yelped, and Megatron growled.

"Jump," he commanded, and before Orion knew what he was doing, Megatron half-threw him from the foundering transport onto solid ground. Sunstreaker was there in an instant and hauled on him, dragging him away from the edge and the tipping side of the transport, and Orion promptly dropped the crate he carried.

"Megatron!" he cried in turn, spinning around as soon as he was steady - Megatron was braced in the doorway, one pede on what had been the bottom of the doorframe and one on the side of the transport as it sank down into the canal sidelong. He had pulled the massive heavy cannon from his subspace, clamping it onto his arm, and as Orion watched with optics full of terror Megatron fired a blast of violet energy into the hold.

"Back!" Sunstreaker shouted in his audial, and Orion allowed himself to be hauled away from the deck as the canal's black oil surged over the deck. "He'll be fine, get back!"

"Company!" Sideswipe shouted, and the air was lit amber with laserfire.

"Oh, Primus," Orion uttered. "Oh, Primus, why did you choose me?" Behind, the twins and Drift engaged with the Enforcers in desperation and rage; before, Megatron sank with the transport, his leg all but engulfed in the jagged-toothed maw of what looked like an enormous alligatacon - their saboteur, no doubt. All fighting for their lives because of him. If he had never come into their lives-!

Phosphor glowed at the corner of his optic. _If you had never come,_ whispered a voice with a power and merry wisdom that put him in mind of Verdandi, _they would have no hope._

Orion turned, but he could not see Simfur's psychopomp, if indeed that was the identity of the voice's owner. Instead he saw the twins and Drift throwing themselves with everything they had into defending him, shouts of challenge mingling with cries as one of the Enforcers lashed out with a shock baton and knocked Drift to the deck-

_No!_

Orion was in motion before he could think, leaping over Drift to bring all his weight and both fists down on the Enforcer's shoulder joint, a furious hammer of Primus. Armor meant to withstand no end of assault shattered; the Enforcer fell. Wide amber optics stared up at him, Drift still shuddering with the aftereffects of the shock baton even as he dragged himself away from the melee and clamped his hands around his pistols to cover them. A roar and a horrible thrashing came from the canal, but Orion couldn't look back - he threw himself into the pack of Enforcers without a second thought, his protective anger tempered by control and the knowledge earned over long cycles of sparring, just how much force was _enough._

The twins pushed ahead of him, holding off the Enforcers who tried to circle and surround them, Drift's eerily precise fire finding helms and hands and weaponry - Orion bulldozed through them all, taking no sparks but making grimly sure that no Enforcer he encountered would be shooting them in the back afterwards. The roar and rage of battle blurred past him, the deadly intent in the Enforcers' optics something that would haunt him later, but for now counted only as another variable in keeping the others safe as they protected him in turn.

A terrible boiling rush signalled the end of the transport, and Orion faltered as crushing grief overtook him. _Megatron-!_

Drift let out a wordless, strangled cry and a truly _foul_ smell hit the docks. Orion whirled, the twins stomping down the last of the Enforcers, his fists raised to take on whatever horror had ended the transport-

-and stared as Megatron, battered and sparking and thick with stinking oil and energon, limped towards him with a grin worthy of a conquering hero.

"Megatron!" he cried, and ran for him smell or no smell. Megatron wobbled, one leg showering sparks and all but _shredded_ , and went down on one knee beside Drift; Orion slid into them and grabbed them both up tight. "Don't you ever scare me like that again," he scolded. "I thought - when that transport went down-"

Megatron's hand clasped his shoulder hard. "Shut up, Orion," he said gently, and Orion laughed. "Injuries? Aside from my leg, Sideswipe," he added dryly.

"Scorched nerve cluster," Drift admitted in a thick growl that Orion was pretty sure meant he was embarrassed to have to admit it. "I can still roll."

"Few dents," Sideswipe added dismissively, "but serious, Megatron, you should've seen Orion! That jumping hammerfist-"

"Later," Megatron interrupted as Orion's shoulders hunched with guilt. "We need to move."

"Move where?" Drift asked as the twins helped them all up.

Megatron scowled out at the darkness away from the Sea of Light, leaning on Orion for balance. "Out of Simfur. I hate to say it, Orion, but we may need to locate some of your new friends and ask for help."

Orion, his shoulders mantled in worried phospor sprites, bowed his head in thought. "I think I might know who to ask," he said. "Follow me."

*

By the time the groaning, semi-conscious heap of Enforcers had been found and collected up by their shiftmates, the rogue band of strongly-smelling mechs had vanished. The Iaconian transport was sticking up out of the canal, sunk to the bottom with barely more than the flat side of it poking out above the surface, and when it was pulled out of the depths no small few of the dockers let out shrieks and exclamations of horror - the grey frame of an oversized aquatic came rushing out with the dirty oils of the canal, half its head and two of its four optics blown clear away.

Orion and the others only heard of this much later. He and the sprites had found their way to the docks housing the mixed crew of Polyhexians and other heavy-frame sailors who shipped goods across the wide Sea - the Polyhexian on watch sang out a welcome, then choked on the words as the sight they made registered.

"Frag _me,_ " she blurted out, then yelled for their captain. "Skipper! _Skipper! COMPANY!_ "

"If it's them Enforcers again fragittall-" A slender Polyhexian painted in grey and blue swung herself up onto the transport's rail, peering down at the motley crew on her dock in astonishment. "Huh! What've we got here, then? Passengers or bathers?"

"Excuse us," Orion called up apologetically. "We spoke to a few of your crew cycles ago, and they mentioned you were heading back to Polyhex..."

"That we are." The captain cocked her head, giving them a knowing once-over. "And I'm assuming we aren't looking to let anyone in charge know just where you're goin', huh?"

"Not after the cycle we've had," Sideswipe said with feeling, and to Orion's great relief Captain Skipper burst out laughing.

"So I can see! And smell, _whew._ C'mon, let's see if we can't get you into decon before you stink up the place. Hawkeye, find out the medic while you're at it!"

The lookout - Hawkeye, apparently - saluted and jumped down, disappearing from sight. Skipper sent down the gangplank as Orion tried not to join in with the twins giggling at Megatron, who was making growly noises at them both. "Your hospitality is greatly appreciated," he said as he met Skipper on the deck. "We don't have much except fuel to repay you with, but-"

Skipper gestured sharply to cut him off. "I won't hear of repayment," she said. "Keep the promises you made here in Simfur and that'll be more than payment enough. Now - ah, here's Dynia. Now get your afts belowdecks and stay there."

"Yes, Captain." Orion turned, careful of Megatron still using his shoulder for stability, and followed the flier-model and Hawkeye down into the depths of the Polyhexian freighter.

"What a delightful smell you've discovered," Dynia observed as they helped Megatron down the steps. "Fell into the canal, did we?"

"I had help," Megatron growled, more amused than irate. "Can you fix my leg or not?"

"Might need a full rebuild, I can tell that much from here. Don't worry, we have all voyage to get you in fighting shape again."

"My thanks," Orion put in quickly. "I'm no medic, but I've made an effective nurse in the past, should you require assistance."

"Is there anything you haven't done?" Sideswipe demanded.

"Well," Orion drawled, "I've never ridden a freighter to Polyhex."

*

The freighter pulled away from Simfur's docks without incident, though that was mainly due to the captain deciding she'd had more than enough of the local shenanigans and leaving a little ahead of schedule. Orion fretted, which did endear her towards him, to his faint surprise.

"Ah, there'll be a fine, but there's always a fine when you leave Simfur," she reassured him. "It's the bigger port and it's got the bigger canal route, or we'd only ship in and out of Polyhex ourselves." She patted him on the elbow, as high as she could reach, and swaggered off to handle the outraged official squawking over the transport's main comm.

As soon as it was deemed safe for them to be abovedecks, they all trooped up from the belly of the freighter and stopped, to a mech, to gawk like yokels. All around them the Sea of Light glimmered, white and blue and misted with tiny stars, and Orion's optics teared up. Megatron stood motionless, unable to speak for a long moment, and Sideswipe quietly edged in front of Sunstreaker to hide his twin's instinctive grab for the battered datapad in his subspace.

It took them a moment to realise that Drift wasn't with them - that tended to be the norm, but hadn't he been there a moment ago-?

A cutting shriek lanced through the air, and as one the entire crew and Megatron's group grabbed for their weapons. Hawkeye flailed from the watcher's post in furious embarrassment. "Nothing! It's fine! Just had a spiky great lummox appear out of slagging nowhere and scare the plating off me, it's fine!"

Orion squinted, then huffed out surprise through every vent he had. Drift had managed to perch on the top of the control cabin on the freighter's main deck, crouching there half-hidden like some kind of lurking demon from the underdark, the light-mist shimmering over him and making his dark frame look nothing short of uncanny. Also very embarrassed and inclined to grumble about it, but Sideswipe's snorting laughter and Sunstreaker's surreptitious darting fingerpaints were enough to distract the others.

Drift himself caught Orion looking and shrugged at him, as though he couldn't think _what_ all the fuss was about. Amused, Orion left him to it. "At least he's enjoying himself," he murmured.

"As are you," Megatron observed, and lifted a hand to brush the dampness from Orion's optic. "Does everything affect you so?"

"I've always been this way," Orion admitted. "I just... it's beautiful. There is so much beauty in this world, and I never thought I'd be able to see it..."

His optics glimmered again; Megatron wiped them clear. "We will see more. And face more danger, I don't doubt. I admit I hadn't expected the Simfur authorities to turn against us so quickly."

"We were warned against the Enforcers. I expect they assumed any large gathering is a threat to their interests." Orion let his head drift down, cheek resting against Megatron's hand. "Even so - Primus, I don't want to fight again."

"Will you? If you have to?"

Megatron felt tension ripple through Orion's body as he steeled himself. "Yes. But I despise it."

"That is all I ask."

"And you?" Orion asked, blue optics peering up at Megatron, leaning trustingly against his hand. "You told me before that not all of our fighting will be the physical kind. Will you be able to set it aside?"

Megatron blinked, rather taken aback. "I certainly don't want to spend the rest of my life fighting giant alligatacons," he retorted, but the question had sent an uneasy roil through his internals. "There will be plenty for me to do besides that."

The relieved smile Orion gave him was brilliant, and not thanks to the glow of the Sea all around them. Orion straightened up and took Megatron's hand in his own, drawing him over to the rail around the freighter's deck. They stood in silence there, watching the distant smudge of Simfur recede, and the phosphor-sprites danced around Orion's shoulders.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BEWARE THE PARTY STICK.
> 
> Or: Orion and Megatron go visiting.

The long canal ride from Kaon to Simfur had been cycles in the doing, with regular stops to operate the locks that lowered their transport down into the next long section of the waterway. This - this was travelling freely on the open Sea, and Orion had never known anything like it. He spent as much time as he could staring out over the glimmering lights, and more than once had come across Sunstreaker with his battered datapad. The young frontliner had hidden it instantly every time he was disturbed, and Orion wasn't about to ask after something that seemed intensely private. Megatron was a surprise he hadn’t expected, when Orion managed to interrupt him in turn with a datapad in hand.

"You too?" he asked, and stared in delighted bewilderment as Megatron leaped half out of his plating and almost went over the side. "Careful!"

It took some doing to soothe Megatron's ruffled plating, and it took a while for Orion to reassure himself in turn, not letting go of Megatron's arm right away. That impulse was all that let him see the datapad Megatron was still holding, its frame reinforced against accidentally too-tight grips and the occasional fall in the mines, a shabby bit of plastic protecting the screen. Orion blinked, saw regular lines of glyphs meandering over the screen, and hastily glanced away.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't realise you were concentrating. ......who are you writing to?"

"No one," Megatron said gruffly, shoving the datapad in subspace.

"Just practicing, then?"

"No!" Megatron shot him a glare. "I'm as literate as you are, I don't need to practice!"

Orion withdrew, letting go of Megatron's arm. "I apologize," he offered humbly. "I hadn't meant - well, anyway. I'll leave you in peace."

Megatron huffed, and spoke in a nearly subsonic growl before Orion could turn away. "...s'justpoetry."

Orion froze. "What?"

"It's poetry." Megatron forced himself to look up, meet Orion's optics with his glare. "Yes, I admit it. Megatron, the Terror of Kaon, writes poetry. Are you happy now?"

Orion's optics went bright as the Sea of Light itself; a faint teakettle whistle escaped him. "I - that's _wonderful,"_ he blurted before Megatron could bristle further. "May I read some sometime? Please?"

And the Pit of it was, he was completely earnest. Orion had no talent for sarcasm or mockery. Megatron tried to stand firm, to keep glaring, but his will failed him utterly under the glow of those delighted blue optics and he muttered incoherently and hid his optics with one hand. "...maybe," he muttered.

"Thank you," Orion said, and came forward to embrace him. Megatron allowed it. "I won't speak of it again if you don't wish it, but if you really don’t mind, I’d love to read it."

"...hmpf." There was very little Megatron could say to that, not with Orion _beaming_ at him like he'd just discovered something wonderful. He hugged Orion back gruffly, then Orion and his smiles tottered off to 'give him his space to write'.

 _Give him space to write,_ indeed! It all sounded far too pretentious for Megatron's taste, but after all they had been through, and with the glow of the Sea all around them, his fingers itched with the words that spun from his processor and down through his palms.

A small scuff of pedes against metal let him know that Drift was perched overhead, as per usual, and Megatron huffed quietly.

"Could've gone worse," Drift opined softly, and Megatron surprised himself by laughing.

"Yes. Yes, I suppose it could have."

Drift's lip quirked, half-hidden in the shadows thrown by the rippling light, and Megatron absently reached for his datapad again. "Just picture his face when he sees Sunny's," Drift advised, and disappeared again on the strength of Megatron's chuckling.

*

The freighter rounded the curve of the Sea in good time, and the city of Polyhex gradually came into view. Unlike Simfur, it wasn't a dedicated shipping port - that honour went only to the cities connected up to Iacon through the canals, and don't think Megatron didn't have Opinions on that. It did mean that there was more of a holiday air about the city, with mechs both fully-grown and still in their youngling frames hanging on the rails of the docks to watch the freighter come in like it was a novelty.

"Tarn to Iacon to Kaon to Simfur," Megatron muttered almost to himself, "all along the canal. Meanwhile, here is Polyhex, shut out of the shipping business that Simfur gets, all because they won't bow to Iaconian interests."

"Interesting," Orion murmured beside him, though most of his attention was for the city coming into view. Simfur had been flat, bulky and dark away from the brilliant glow of the Sea, with shadows in strange places and apprehensive glances following around every corner; by contrast, they were still a good way out from Polyhex and already they could hear faint strains of music drifting out over the light-mist. Megatron hummed back to him.

"The cities between Iacon and the Sea are the ones we may need to pay the most attention to," he replied. "Polyhex and Uraya, Nova Cronum - Kalis is noteworthy but tiny, and it's lost most of its tourist trade with the rivers having run dry. And across the Sea...Praxus and its fellows may be a little too far for us to go and risk losing momentum."

Orion made a mournful little noise. "It's a shame," he said softly, his optics dim and far away; Megatron glanced sharply at him, but there was no time to interrogate him then and there, not with the crew shifting into higher gear and pulling the freighter around for the approach into Polyhex's docks.

As they docked, Drift squinted into the light. "What's all that fuss?" he muttered, shifting a little on his pedes as a louder strain of music reached them.

One of the deckhands overheard him, and grinned. "Guess it's about time for the Grand Parade," she explained to Drift's mystified look. "Polyhex likes any excuse for a party - we have a lot of namedays for the Primes of old - but the Grand Parade is a big one. You won't have an easy time of it if there's anywhere you need to be in a hurry."

"Guess not," Drift admitted with a shrug, glancing at Megatron and Orion, who still had their heads together like they were sharing secrets. It was enough to make a bot jealous, except Drift was still the only mech Megatron shared his poetry with. That was some small comfort on a bad day.

Orion insisted on clasping hands with everyone before they disembarked, thanking them with a quiet, warm sincerity that discomfited them. All except Dynia, who gripped him in a fierce hug, and Skipper, who only grinned.

"Remember what I said," she told him, stubbornness in her optics despite her smile. "Take care of yourself, Orion. I expect to see you next on a news broadcast declaring your Primacy."

"I've got a long road to travel before then," Orion demurred. "But I'll keep your words in my spark, I promise."

"Sweet to the core, you are." Skipper nudged him toward the gangplank. "Go on, shoo, all cargo off my ship!"

Laughing, Orion let himself be herded, and moments later he and his band were standing on the dock - once again gawping like tourists at all the bustle around them. Coloured lamps blazed everywhere they looked, on the docks and even more further up the streets leading into Polyhex proper, and the distant strains of music and a roar of voices carried down to them.

"Woah," breathed Sideswipe. " _Look_ at all of it."

"Listen, more like," Drift muttered with a bit of a wince. He nodded to Megatron and padded up from the docks, his short frame slipping into the bustle of Polyhexians and vanishing in an instant. The others waited a moment, giving him time to make some headway, then ambled slowly up and away from the docks in their turn.

The winding paths up from the docks were far less utilitarian than the Simfuran versions had been - Polyhex was more a port for visiting tourists rather than large amounts of industrial shipping, and was the first city they had visited that didn't feel like a workshop, as Sideswipe muttered to his twin where he thought Megatron couldn't hear. As they left the docks and came out onto a wider side-street that absolutely heaved with people, Orion briefly wished in a panic for the business of the Iaconian docks instead. It was so _loud._ A bright skirl of music whirled up on one side of them; across the street a mech with some kind of puppets was telling a story with great animation and sweeping gestures; further along was another mech selling some kind of goodies, bawling out invitations and prices at the top of their vocaliser. Orion couldn't tell which way was up for a moment, but as he adjusted and he hurriedly dialled his audials down, the sheer _joy_ of the place began to sink in. Here, at least on the surface, there were mechs living life and enjoying themselves, and it shook Orion deeply to see how openly and vibrantly they displayed it.

Sideswipe, by contrast, appeared to be in his element. "This place is amazing!" he crowed, starting to bounce along to the music they could hear throbbing in the streets beyond the docks. "Can we stay for a while? Like forever?"

"I doubt they have a Grand Parade every cycle," Orion answered dryly. "These people do have to go back to work eventually."

"Pfff, you old rusted cog," Sideswipe teased. Orion sputtered, letting Sideswipe laugh at him. They emerged into the city proper, the side street leading them to a main thoroughfare that thronged with people of all makes and models.

"Is this the Parade?" Orion asked the first mech they came across.

He got an odd, amused look in response. "This is just the before-party," the lightweight worker-model told him. "The Parade won't be here for a while. Trust me, you'll know when it's here."

Orion eyed the surge of people. "How?"

"You won't be able to hear yourself think, much less hold a conversation," the worker grinned, and ambled off chuckling to himself. Orion sighed, shaking his head at a querying chime from somewhere near his shoulder.

"Shh," he warned. "Stay out of sight, little one." The phosphor sprite obediently dimmed and settled into the crook of his shoulder, so light that Orion couldn't even feel its presence there. He had no idea how long the little sprite was planning to stay with him, but he couldn't help but be glad of the company.

Simfur had been set along the banks of the canal system and out into the sweep of the docks, close-fitting and utilitarian; Polyhex, by contrast, sprawled along a naturally-formed bay of the Sea of Light, and even the most distant part of the city wasn't too far a walk from its glow, the city following a half-moon curve longer than it was deep. Orion was all optics, glancing up at the lamps and around at the sheer number of people - Megatron was quieter, thoughtful and assessing, meandering along at Orion's side and seeming to catalogue everything he saw. For all Orion knew, this was far more strange to Megatron and the twins than it was to him, and he couldn't even imagine Drift's reaction to the noise.

And speaking of noise, the distant roar of voices and an almighty clanging, clashing, clattering rumpus seemed to be making its way towards them. Megatron tensed, optics alert, and Sunstreaker planted himself at Orion's other side; Sideswipe bounced in frustration at not being able to see, though he did seem more than a little tickled at being a head taller than most of the local Polyhexian frames.

"Now that sounds parade-y," he said, and the simple fact that he was forced to raise his voice made Orion think that he must have the right of it. "Maybe we'd better get back some!"

"If only so that everyone else can see the parade go by," Megatron rumbled dryly, suiting actions to words and ushering Orion and Sunstreaker to put their backs to the wall of the buildings lining the street. There were murals streaking down the street, some seeming to belong solely to the building they were painted on, some stretching across several businesses and homes in a row, and Orion glanced down to see Sunstreaker doing his best to take in everything he could of them as well as staying aware of what was going on around them.

"How lovely," he murmured softly, and wondered as Sunstreaker's field practically fizzled beside him.

And then the first parade float loomed into view down the street, and conversation ceased.

The music was deafening, thundering fit to rattle plating clear off its moorings. The sheer size of the three-tier float, festooned with mechs in outlandish costumes dancing wildly, made it seem to lumber, but before long it was passing in front of them, preceded and followed by the mechs playing that cacophonic music. The crowd surged and cheered with joy, and Orion couldn't help but be swept along with them. Dimly at his side he could hear Megatron laughing.

The second float clearly held someone highly regarded, a femme bedecked in strings of crystals who beamed and waved at the Polyhexians (who by the sound of things were deliriously happy to see her); the third had people flinging more strings of crystals into the crowd. Some traffic obstruction ahead slowed the parade, or perhaps it was supposed to pause in intervals, and Orion drew closer, hoping to see something of its construction. One of the crystal-tossers caught his gaze and shouted something, but Orion couldn't make out a word. Laughing, the crystal-tosser pointed into the crowd. Orion looked, and saw the Polyhexians flashing their headlights at the float to be rewarded with flung strands of crystals.

 _Ah, that's how it works._ Orion obligingly flicked his headlights on and off twice, and his new friend bounced with glee and flung a double handful of crystal strands his way. There were so many that a laughing Orion couldn't catch them all, but he managed to get ahold of some of them and draped them around his neck like the Polyhexians were doing. His crystal-tosser beamed hir approval as the parade started moving again.

Megatron was shaking his head and openly burying his face in his hand, but from the smirk still on show underneath that broad palm Orion gathered he was more than amused despite his best efforts.

//You're just wishing you had your own crystals,// he commed with a grin; Megatron's head shot up, one optic ridge doing the same and almost hitting his helmline.

//Oh _really,_ // he drawled, scarlet optics flashing in challenge. //Let's just see what happens when the next float comes by.//

The next float, as it happened, was unmanned and more of an art piece - a glowing confection of lamps in all different colours that looked fit to lift off into the air with very little prompting, the collection of softly-glowing globes looking very much like a stream of bubbles just catching the light. The music had faded a little after the very first float had gone by, but as the bubble-float ground slowly forward it rose again in volume - something fast and vibrant, ringing through the air in joyful celebration. This time it came from a single mech, rather than having a stream of musicians before and after the float itself; a scarlet and gold Praxian with some kind of keyboard-and-effects instrument that Orion couldn't place. The crowds surrounding them went even wilder as the Praxian’s float drew past, much as they had for the femme earlier, and there was a fusillade of headlight-flashing going on - the mech had been rather canny and had a ring of crystal-throwers ringing the float one level down from his own.

//Clever,// Megatron noted, seeing that the crystal-strings were all in the same scarlet-and-gold as the Praxian mech's paintjob. He glanced over at Orion, then was abruptly clonked in the chest by a fistful of crystal strings. "What on-"

His instinctive surprise blurted out into the noise of the street rather than over comms meant no-one could hear it, but Orion glanced back at him and then back to the float just in time to register Megatron's utter bafflement and the crystal-thrower blowing him a cheeky kiss and a wink.

Orion was openly laughing at him. Megatron shook a fist in his direction, aware that he couldn't hide the smirk dancing on his face. //My revenge will be swift and terrible,// he swore, and Orion smirked right back.

//Promises, promises,// the Iaconian teased, and Megatron shook the air with his aroused rev. He stalked forward, grasped Orion by the wrist and pulled him close, and the two of them proceeded to engage in another Polyhexian tradition: making out as the parade rolled by.

Sideswipe's wolf-whistle was lost in the crowd, but Megatron sent a 'watch it' ping his way anyway.

*

The Grand Parade was long gone; the mad bacchanalia that had followed in its wake had lasted far into the next cycle, until the lights and music and movement had all blurred and smeared together. Orion came to his senses slowly, every strut aching and his helm still throbbing with the aftereffects of too much light and color and sound. He was sprawled on a floor he didn't remember sitting down on, and he was absolutely dripping in crystal strings in a rainbow of colors.

_Quite a party._

There was a faint, sparkfelt groan from somewhere around his pedes; Orion very gingerly lifted his helm and looked, then spotted a flash of familiar red plating along with the feel of Sideswipe's field weakly flickering out as though testing his own headache.

"Wow," the younger mech croaked, and Orion groaned softly in agreement. A chuckle came from somewhere overhead, and both mechs blinked up and tried to make their optics focus on the voice's owner.

"Sounds like y'all had a great Parade," a Polyhexian mech informed them cheerily, hands on his hips and an amused grin lingering under his visor. "How you feelin'?"

"Like I got hit over the head with a float," Sideswipe muttered, and grinned through his winces at the other mech's infectious chuckle.

"Welp, if y'wanna you can come recharge some more of it off in the back room," he offered. "Y'all wound up fallin' asleep on th'dance floor, which ain't a bad way t'go if y'ask me. Name's Ricochet," he added belatedly, and Orion shifted enough to give him a cordial, if tentative nod. "This's my club, or mine an' my twin's, anyway. Frag knows where _he_ ended up."

The fond tone Ricochet used put any lingering worries Orion might have had to rest, and he made a valiant effort to get up - carefully, when he realised that he'd woken up with his helm resting on Megatron's shoulder, and that Drift was tucked into a ball between Megatron's arm and Orion’s side. Neither mech so much as twitched as Orion gradually, gingerly regained his footing, and he felt briefly guilty at how exhausted they both must be to still be so deeply in recharge.

"Aww," Ricochet grinned, entirely unaware of Orion's thoughts. "C'mon. Let's get 'em settled - nowhere's gonna be open today anyway, 'least durin' the usual on-shift. _Maybe_ come the late-shift, but you'd be lucky."

"Thank you," Orion murmured gratefully, and set about nudging Megatron awake. It didn't take all that much prodding to do, though he was admittedly more hampered than he'd realised by the small geode's worth of crystals he was draped in, and the occasional tinkling _crunch_ as he moved pained him more than he cared to admit. Still, eventually Megatron groaned and dropped a hand over his optics, so that was something. Drift barely stirred.

The room Ricochet led them to was too small for all of them, really, but it was clean and quiet, which was all Orion cared about. Ricochet and one of his employees, one who was head and shoulders taller than him and referred to him as 'boss' with affection, pulled in a couple of fold-out single berths from other rooms and left them to it. Orion settled Megatron, still blinking fuzzily, and Drift - out cold - onto the largest berth, then perched on the edge to de-crystal himself as the twins pushed the two berths together so they could recharge in a heap together. Orion smiled to himself and peeled another couple of crystal strings off his plating.

Despite his best intentions, he heard Sunstreaker murmur, "They paint the walls here. I wanna paint a wall."

Sideswipe hushed him, more gently than Orion had heard him sound before. "I'll find a nice wall just for you."

"Mf."

The twins settled close and went still, leaving Orion to wonder; _Sunstreaker paints? Is that what his datapad is for?_

Well, he wasn't going to make the same mistake with Sunstreaker that he had with Megatron and his poetry. Orion nudged his collection of cheap treasure into a neat pile at the end of the large berth and finally lay his aching head down. This time around he was far more comfortable, and within moments was sinking down into recharge.

*

Sideswipe woke with his customary suddenness, optics offline and listening around himself. That was Drift's muffled wheezy-vent noises, and Megatron's lower, deeper-sounding systems, and _that_ was the newer, familiar-by-now sound of a low, well-maintained engine that meant _Orion._ The warmth and the sounds of a frame that was almost a mirror of his own were entirely Sunstreaker, and Sideswipe took momentary advantage of being alone-not-alone for once and cuddled in close to his twin with a contented sigh.

That, naturally, was enough to wake Sunny, and the quiet recharge-fogged grumblings were reassuringly familiar.

 _Wakey wakey,_ he sang softly, just in case Sunstreaker was still sore, and got an increase in grumbling noises and a very precise and kind of sleep-floppy hand to the face.

Sideswipe snickered, quietly enough that the others wouldn't wake - he doubted they would, but the last thing _anyone_ wanted was a cranky Drift startled out of recharge and getting all stabby - and put his hand over Sunstreaker's to hold it in place before licking his twin's palm.

A muffled explosion of outrage went off, though out loud Sunstreaker kept it down to a strangled blat of static and Sideswipe kept his snickering to comms only. //Jerk!// Sunstreaker hissed, scrubbing his palm on the berth.

//You know you love me,// Sideswipe singsonged, and ducked the retaliatory swat. //C'mon, let's leave the old folks to their recharge, I wanna see if there's fuel.//

Sunstreaker glanced at said 'old folks', blissfully passed out with Drift between them. //We're supposed to be guarding them.//

//If Enforcer assassins were gonna bust in through the door, they would've by now. C'moooon, we won't leave the building and they'll have Drift with them.//

Sunstreaker couldn't argue with Sideswipe's logic, even if it did come in the form of wheedling. He grunted and dragged himself upright, hating his brother's unnatural cheerfulness with every atom in his body.

As they came downstairs, Sideswipe spotted Ricochet bending over a mech of similar size over at the bar. "Hey..." he began as Ricochet glanced up.

"Guys, keep it down, huh?" Ricochet warned. "My idiot brother went and got himself a hangover."

"I do not have a hangover!" protested the other, turning to reveal a visored face uncannily similar to Ricochet's.

Sideswipe's jaw dropped. "Sunny! SunnySunnySunny _look!_ They're _twins!"_

The newcomer gave him a flat look. "So're you."

"But we've never met any others before! This is so awesome!" Sideswipe bounced down the stairs, and Sunstreaker had no choice but to follow along in a huff. Someone had to balance out all that bounce.

The Polyhexians were glancing between them in some interest, though, and the new-twin's wariness seemed to be dispelling in the face of Sideswipe's entirely genuine delight. "Where're you from that you never saw more twins before?" he demanded, sitting up a little from his miserable slouch on a barstool. Ricochet tilted his helm as if to stare down at Primus and demand some help with his brother, and Sunstreaker felt a fleeting pang of _I-know-that-feeling_ , not that he'd ever admit it to an outsider.

"Sorry 'bout him," Ricochet said archly. "He got a lil too into things at the Parade an' his manners fell out. Jazz, say hi to the nice mechs."

The other Polyhexian - Jazz - gave them a half-sparked wave, and now that they were closer both Kaonite twins could see that one side of his visor was a little more brightly-lit than the other. Sideswipe was kind of impressed, but then Sideswipe _would_ be.

"Hey," Jazz said, and gave them a vague sort of wave. "You here for the Parade 'n all?"

"Just happened to arrive in time, actually," Sideswipe said brightly enough, then got right back down to business. "But seriously, this is awesome! We never met another set of twins before."

"Heh, well, it ain't thanks to Polyhex," Ricochet put in. He started heading around the bar as he spoke, ducking to rummage underneath which made his voice sound entertainingly peculiar. "We're from Uraya originally, an' don't people just come up with some weird ideas when they hear _that!_ "

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe blinked at each other for a moment, not sure what to make of that last part. "Why?" Sideswipe said blankly for both of them, and Jazz gave them a very incredulous look, Ricochet's helm popping up from under the bar to do the same.

"You really ain't from 'round here!"

"Kaon, actually," Sunstreaker said shortly, and that seemed to be answer enough for the other pair.

"Huh. Well, people've come through from weirder places," Ricochet shrugged. Jazz looked like he might have liked to ask more questions but for the lingering ache in his helm, and was distracted by Ricochet sliding a cube over to him regardless. "Here, drink that. Hangover remedy," he added for the other twins' benefit. "Anyway, Uraya's kinda weird about twins - think they come from the river, one makes an’ one mars, drawn of Primus' tears 'n all that stuff. Y'get people thinkin' you're a blessing or a warning, it gets old fast."

"Ugh," Sideswipe commented obligingly. "I'd have run a megamile from that too."

Jazz chuckled into his cube. "Wasn't all of why we left, but it certainly wasn't convincin' us to stay," he said. "Anyhow, Polyhex is a blast. Great parties."

"A little too much of that, bro," Ricochet scolded fondly.

Jazz chuckled, wearily wiggling his fingers at his twin. "Hey, it's your turn t' go have fun next Parade. Bet you come home covered in crystals."

"Oh, I'm not bulky enough for that. Turns out hauler-frames are the new hotness this cycle. You should've seen the two big lunks who came in with these two - big, all over each other, and covered in crystal strands from helm to pede."

Next to that, Jazz clearly thought his own few crystal strands draped around his neck were a poor showing. "I gave away most of the ones I got, y'know," he felt the need to protest.

"Sure you did. Drink your hangover remedy."

"Urgh." Jazz pulled a face that impressed even Sideswipe, but this was clearly an old, long-standing tradition and he downed the cube with only a token groan to accompany it. "Bleugh. Riiiic..."

"Don'cha even think about complainin'," Ricochet said sternly. "G'wan, up, time fer all good lil mechs to find a berth, an' you along with 'em. I'll be back in a click," he added to the twins, and they waved in no small amusement as a foggily complaining and increasingly groggy-sounding Jazz was herded up the stairs and out of sight by his twin.

"Huh," Sunstreaker said after a moment.

"Right?" Sideswipe agreed.

*

By the time Orion awoke for the second time, the twins' berth was empty and Drift was seated quietly on the floor at the foot of their pushed-together berths. He made a soft noise of acknowledgement as Orion shifted, but no more than that, seemingly preoccupied with cleaning and maintaining his pistols - one close to hand in case of emergencies, the other in pieces on the floor.

Orion couldn't help feeling just a little lost for conversation around Drift still - primarily because the other mech was very rarely within range for such things, but also because he seemed so self-contained. Still, Orion shifted up onto one elbow and glanced across at Megatron - still soundly in recharge - and kept his voice soft. "All well?"

//Twins are pokin' around outside the room,// Drift said a little absently. //Ain't left the club yet, said they weren't gonna til I was up at least. Owner's offering energon if you need it.//

At the mention of energon Orion's tank gave a hungry little clench. //That might be a good idea,// he agreed. //We should go once we've fueled. I'm sure he can recommend us a place to stay.//

Drift nodded, but didn't reply, and Orion figured that was as good a conversation as could be expected with Drift. He swung his legs carefully over the berth, nudging at the floor with his pede to make sure he didn't step on any stray crystal strands. They weren't especially precious, but they were very pretty, and they would be a pain to clean up if he crushed them into the floor.

_I'll just take a few along with me, to bring to Ariel and Dion. ...I wonder if we can make use of a comm center somewhere._

His spark zinged with sudden homesickness. He paused, leaning against the berth, vents sighing as, just for a moment, he let himself miss his friends and his home.

_Even when I return... it will be as a mechanism profoundly changed. I won't be able to return to the docks and my old life. ...I wonder if they'll still want to stay with me._

Drift was watching him, for all that the careful movements of his hands hadn't slowed. Bending forward, Orion carefully picked up the strings of crystal beads he’d left piled at the foot of the bed, and in a moment of impulsiveness scooped the entire mass into his subspace. _Even if the way it came about... Even if that was the hardest thing I hope I ever live through, good things have come of it. I only hope they forgive me for thinking so._

//You wanna go?// Drift commed cautiously, amber optics flicking his way. //Don't mind staying. Or you can wait on Megatron if you'd rather.//

//No - no, I'll go. Let him recharge as long as he needs to.//

Drift nodded, and Orion fancied there was a bit of approval in it for him. //No problem.//

//I'll bring you both something,// Orion promised, and pushed himself to his pedes - no wobbles or dizziness came back to haunt him, thankfully, and he made his way over to the door without incident. Leaving Drift and Megatron behind, he glanced around and headed down the stairs he dimly remembered from the cycle before, heading down them and towards the sound of familiar voices.

"Hey, big guy!" Sideswipe caroled as he emerged into the club proper. "We thought you'd be out cold until next orn."

"Cheeky young punk," Orion grumbled obligingly, and amid Sideswipe's snickers took the seat Ricochet gestured him to. On Sideswipe's other side, Sunstreaker gave him a tiny wave of greeting, barely more than a listless flick of his fingers. "Thank you for your hospitality, Ricochet," he added. "In case I didn't say it before I passed out."

Ricochet waved his words away, pulling a small cube and passing it along the bar to him. "My twin and I, we had some help getting here," he explained. "As I was telling your friends. So we like to help other people when we can."

"Turns out Ric's from Uraya, so I thought I'd scan his processor a bit about the place seeing as we're probably headed there next," Sideswipe added.

Orion nodded. "Thank you, Sideswipe, that is very helpful." Sideswipe brightened, delight seeming to halve his age, and Orion's spark panged with guilt and protectiveness. He turned back to the bar, picking up the little cube and inspecting it - the fuel inside glowed a pale green and he sipped it curiously. It wasn't quite sweet, but there was a freshness to the taste that he liked, and he drank it down slowly as Ricochet talked.

"Uraya's kind of a funny place, least it is compared to Polyhex. The river comes through it from Kalis, an' they're even weirder. Old holdouts o'the Legascions, y'know."

"No," Sunstreaker said bluntly, and Ricochet snickered.

"Don't hold back, Suns, tell me just how y'feel." Sunstreaker didn't reply, though Orion did notice he didn't seem to object to 'Suns' the way he did 'Sunny'. Maybe there was a little added dignity there compared to Sideswipe's preferred teasing. "Anyway, Uraya. All about the river. Primus' tears bubblin' up through Cybertron, all that stuff - they got whole long rituals for different kindsa baths, fer cryin' out loud. Ain't for me, or Jazz either. Lots of ritual, lots of fancy manners, everyone's real polite whether they're bein' nice to y' or not. Used to be diplomats went off to Uraya for training in how to stab people in the back with their nice manners, before the river dried up an' they all went a bit strange. ...well, strange-er."

"Strange how?" Sideswipe asked, optics bright; this seemed like some kind of old horror story to him, and Ricochet seemed entirely aware of it.

"Diplomacy lessons stopped pretty quick, for a start. They all went a lil bit mystical up on the council level, 'pparently, decided that the rivers dryin' up was some kinda bad omen. Hence all the fuss over twins. Way I heard it, Primus' tears can be a good thing or a bad thing - cryin' 'cause you're so happy, y'know? - but no tears at all is a real worse thing all ways round."

Orion couldn't hold a shiver. He'd never been particularly faithful, but he did believe in Primus, and now that the deity seemed to have taken a bit of an interest in him it was all too easy to picture the Dreaming God suffering as the people of Cybertron suffered, starving and too weary to cry. "I suppose I can't blame them," he managed, seeing dry riverbeds in the faint texture of the bartop. "Mystical or not, rivers ceasing to flow surely is a bad omen for the planet's health."

"Maybe," Ricochet allowed as Sideswipe gave Orion a concerned frown. "Not my area of expertise. In any case, do yourselves a favor and stay away from the river banks in Uraya. There's rituals going on all the time and people tend to get kinda aggravated if they're interrupted. Stick with the baths - all the ritual surrounding _those_ is a pain but the hot soak is totally worth it."

"I'll keep it in mind," Orion promised him, and finished his energon. "Might I have a couple of cubes to bring to my friends upstairs? Surely Megatron's waking up by now."

"'Course," Ricochet grinned. He hadn't seemed to recognise the name at all, and Orion wondered over it as he padded up the stairs with cubes in hand. _Perhaps because Polyhex isn't on a direct line down from Kaon,_ he reasoned. _...or, worse, Simfur was the oddity and all news from Kaon has been thoroughly squashed._

 _That_ was a depressing thought, and one he dwelled on perhaps a little too much as he slipped back into the room. Drift nodded to him, both pistols now back in place on his hips and the mech himself leaning back against the wall, sitting on one of the berths rather than the floor. That was likely due to Megatron's influence, though admittedly Orion felt more like chuckling at his friend than any kind of awe right then.

Megatron, Terror of Kaon, was sprawled across his borrowed berth giving the ceiling a truly ferocious scowl.

"And here I thought," he said, slowly and carefully, "that the Trek in Kaon was the wildest party I would see in my lifetime. It is entirely possible I'm actually in the Well."

"Oh, well. In that case, you won't want this," Orion teased, stepping carefully between the berths. He handed one of the cubes to Drift as he passed, getting a faintly surprised look and another nod for his pains, then turned - again, very carefully - and sat on the edge of the berth beside Megatron to hand him the cube. A broad black hand batted irritably at him, and Orion snickered but duly surrendered the cube to Megatron's clutches.

"Evil tease," Megatron muttered into the energon, and Orion almost burst something trying not to start laughing and make his friend’s headache worse.

"Just finish the cube," he said instead, a smile in his voice and optics dancing. "Then we should probably get moving, if you're feeling up to it. Ricochet must want his club back sometime this cycle."

Megatron snorted in what Orion chose to interpret as agreement. "Then back to advocating?" he asked, before downing a mouthful of the cube.

"I need at least a full shift's rest before I can even begin to think about that," Orion declared, and this time it was Drift who snorted. "I feel like I spent last cycle being beaten over the head with a remarkably spangly stick."

"The Party Stick," Drift muttered, and snorted again.

"Yes, that's precisely it." Orion pointed Drift's way, finding out the hard way that grinning _hurt_. "I didn't even get overcharged, which seems unfair, but there it is. Last night I was vigorously assaulted with the Party Stick and I need to recover, and from the look of things so do you."

Drift was actively spluttering now, and Megatron was dragging himself semi-upright in affront. "I beg your pardon, Orion, I am the picture of one-hundred-percent performance capacity. No Party Stick, however - spangly, was it? What a strange word - however _spangly_ can dent the Terror of Kaon."

"You're listing," Orion pointed out, trying for 'deadpan' and failing. Megatron overcorrected in his haste and nearly went sprawling out of the berth.

"I am doing no such thing," he said firmly, and spent the rest of the time it took him to finish drinking his cube sitting very, very still.

*

They managed to lurch back down the stairs not long after that, and Orion offered to help Ricochet and his staff relocate the berths they'd made use of, but the Polyhexian waved them off perfectly cheerfully.

"Don't worry 'bout it," he declaimed. "Jazz is out like a light up there, 'long with a few other people who left it too late to get home, an' I don't want them waking and getting cranky. _You_ know," he added, nodding sagely to Sunstreaker, who inclined his helm with a grave wisdom that made Orion and Drift snicker and Sideswipe howl his outrage before being quickly muffled.

They bid Ricochet a fond goodbye, expressing their regret at not meeting his sibling - or not seeing Jazz again before they left, in the case of the twins - and headed out into Polyhex again. It looked as though a great tide of glitter, sparkles and many, many crystal strings had washed through the city, leaving behind a tideline of mechs recharging in the strangest places - Sideswipe promptly instituted a points system - and twinkly things of all descriptions dangling all over.

Drift muttered _"Spangly,"_ under his breath, glanced sidelong up at Megatron, and broke into snickers when Sideswipe promptly demanded an explanation that Drift refused to give.

Their first objective, Orion had decided, should be somewhere to stay that night. But Ricochet had been right, and very few places were open to business yet, much less had anywhere for them to stay.

"Sorry mechs," one hotelier said unapologetically. "All my rooms got booked out for the Parade cycles back. You'll haveta try somewhere else."

"We'll sleep on the roof, seriously, we're that desperate," Sideswipe broke in, but the hotelier was unmoved.

"I suppose it's too much to hope that Skipper's freighter is still in port," Orion mumbled as they trekked out into the street again.

"You want to leave already?" Megatron asked.

"No, I was thinking of the berths on the freighter."

"Hn." Megatron's optics dimmed in thought. "Well, heading in that direction might be more fruitful."

Skipper's freighter was gone, but the captain of the vessel docked in her place told them of a small hostel ei and eir crew had recently vacated. "It's rickety, but it's cheap and it's clean," ei told them. "If you hurry you might get ahold of one or two of the rooms my mechs just left empty. Just up this walkway, the Rusted Swanboat, you can't miss it."

"On it!" Sideswipe declared, and was off like a shot, far faster than either Megatron or Orion could travel at the moment. Orion shook his head and turned back to the captain.

"Our deepest thanks," he said. "If you're ever in Iacon, look for the Laughing Turbofox oilhouse and tell them Orion sent you."

"Appreciate it, friend," the captain grinned, and turned back to eir business aboard ship. Orion, in turn, looked back at Megatron with a smile.

"Well, that's one thing done," he said. "I don't know about you, but I'm planning on recharging for the rest of the cycle. Anything else can wait."

Megatron sighed through his vents, a great gust of weariness and tired dignity that made Orion want to poke him out of sheer perversity. Sunstreaker ambled along with them this time, sharp optics on the mechs that passed them, and Drift had disappeared again. Orion knew better than to look for him, and simply had to trust that he would catch up with them in turn.

 _At the very worst, he's not too proud to comm someone, surely,_ he reasoned, then set about getting both himself and Megatron moving again with Sunstreaker acting as reluctant tugboat.

Sideswipe met them at the door of the hostel, bouncing with impatience. "They've got two rooms left," he reported, almost vibrating on the threshold. "Hurry up!"

With no small few groans and complaints they finally made it inside, to much amusement from the hostel owner. Rooms procured and berths promised, they staggered up the stairs - which were indeed very rickety, spattered with all kinds of interesting patina splashed across the original metal - and split up to fall into recharge. Orion shambled into one with Megatron close on his heels, and Sideswipe shrugged and ambled into the second with Sunstreaker behind him, optics starting to dim before they'd even found the berth. 

Orion woke very briefly from his recharge when the door hissed softly open. Nothing about the silent entry made him tense up, and at first he was too muddled to think why, but when Megatron grunted and rolled over to drag a rather startled Drift into the berth between them, he let out a soft noise of realisation and promptly fell back into sleep.

*

They lingered in Polyhex a while longer, learning of its many festivals and of the neglect and rot that lingered in places where the tourists weren't meant to go; no violent opposition arose as it had in Simfur, but Orion had the disquieting notion they'd made as many enemies as allies here just from existing and asking questions, and from his increased watchfulness Drift seemed to agree. Before too long they were booking passage to Uraya on a freighter that would accept Orion's labour as payment for their passage.

"If we hadn't lost our transport," Megatron grumbled as they boarded.

"Let it go," Orion advised serenely. "It was convenient to have it, but we can get by without it."

"It was Kaon property," Megatron snapped - which wasn't the real issue that was bothering him, Orion thought, but he knew better than to point that out.

"Well, when I - er, get my new job," he offered, careful not to speak of his Primacy where the crew could hear, "perhaps I will be able to reimburse the workers of Kaon for its loss."

Megatron huffed and went up towards the nose of the freighter to brood, which Sideswipe cheerily informed Orion was a regular occurrence and you just had to leave him to it. The quickly-muted splutter from Megatron's direction made Sideswipe declare loudly and hurriedly that he'd just go and poke around the other end of the freighter, and Sunstreaker let out a heavy, put-upon _sigh_ so like one of Megatron's that Orion almost choked on his own engine.

"I'll just," he squeaked. "Sideswipe. And see what the captain needs." 

Sunstreaker nodded. "I'll hang around here," he said, with a significant look in Megatron's direction; the big Kaonite was staring out from the front of the freighter in high dudgeon, backplates stiff and unforgiving, and Orion cut off another burst of the giggles before they could start.

"Right then," he managed. "I'll see you all later," and made his escape while he could.

*

Uraya was a city set apart, they soon found, and the reason why the old riverbed had been converted into a freighter track became clear as they crawled closer. Orion had spent the journey acting as maintenance worker, repairbot and eventually would be a hauler again for a time when the big crates of supplies would need shifting off the transport at their destination, and Sideswipe had cheerily loitered with intent to chatter. His cover was that he was too bored to make his own entertainment and too lazy to help Orion out in turn, so he managed to both keep Orion company and keep watch when Orion was too busy working to look out for himself.

Consequently, of the two of them he was the first to catch a glimpse of the massive towers hulking over the horizon. "Whoa," he burst out, leaning against the railing. "'Rion, look!"

Orion obediently craned his head to look. "...well, isn't that something," he murmured.

"It's something all right," Sideswipe agreed. "Now that looks like a city that could plug up a river."

Squatting with - perhaps not _malevolent_ intent, Orion thought, trying to be charitable, just not _welcoming_ intent - over the mouth of the canyon that had once been a river, Orion had to agree. Uraya was surrounded by thick, smooth walls on all sides - and if they looked this big from a distance, up close they had to be immense. The occasional glint of air traffic buzzing past caught his optic, and Orion glanced up, surprised. "Does Uraya use air commerce as well?" he asked no one in particular.

One of the sailors - and they were still sailors, they insisted, never mind there was no river - happened to be wandering by. "Mostly as a messaging service and luxury goods," he informed them with all the smugness of a mech who thought what he knew was all there was to know. "For most everything else it's cheaper to ship over river - or, well, over land now. How's that tread wheel coming along?"

Orion ducked guiltily over the worn tread wheel in his lap. "Almost done," he said, "but this patch won't hold for more than a couple trips. It should really be replaced."

"Shyeah, from your vocalizer to Primus's audial," the sailor snorted merrily, and moved on. Sideswipe made a rude gesture to his back.

"Slagger," he muttered, and Orion reached out to poke him gently.

"Leave them be. I warned him, and there's only so much we can do if he won't listen."

"I know, I know. Still annoying."

Orion sighed and had to agree, if reluctantly. There was little time for more, though, with Uraya on the horizon - Orion rushed through the last few jobs the crew could wring from him as they travelled, and he disembarked with the others with a sigh of relief. He looked around as he stretched, curious - the freighter had made its way along the old riverbed, its wide tracks grinding along the reinforced platforms on either side of the canyon, but to Orion's surprise there was still a trickle of liquid moving sluggishly along the bottom of the gulley. Nothing even close to what the river had once been, from the size of the dry riverbed, but a thin silvery stream that struggled along the old path until it petered out, sinking into Cybertron's substructure where once it would have flowed right down to Polyhex.

"I wonder what happened to the rest of the river?" he murmured, and Megatron pointed with a grim set to his mouth.

"It seems that what's left of it is trammeled up inside the city walls," he growled, and Orion blinked - there was a small, heavily-reinforced opening at the base of Uraya's thick gleaming walls, only a little broader and higher than the tiny stream that bubbled out through the gap.

"I suppose that's another thing we can look into, then," Orion said optimistically, and said nothing as the others made dubious noises and headed towards the city proper. The freighter had stopped to let them off on a loading platform outside the city itself, mechs presumably from Uraya’s merchant sector coming out to inspect what they had brought and, probably, argue with the captain before everyone went away ruffled. There hadn’t been many other travellers on the transport to begin with, and most of them were hanging around the heavily-reinforced gates looking rather miffed. For the first time, Orion began to worry that they wouldn't even be able to enter one of the cities they had planned to visit.

"What do you think?" he murmured to Megatron, his unease filtering into his voice.

"I think we may have to do some bluffing," Megatron answered, nodding at the gate where pede traffic was being filtered in. Not many seemed to have been admitted of that small group, and there were a few frustrated-looking mechanisms lingering along the wall nearby as if considering forcing their way in.

"Oh, good," Orion muttered. "Because I'm so skilled at that."

"You'll be fine," Megatron assured him as they and the other visitors were herded into (a very long and increasingly disgruntled) line. "You're very convincing."

Orion wasn't reassured, and he had a long time to worry. The line moved slowly, and though some who were allowed into the entryway weren’t turned back out again, the mechs turned away made Orion's spark clench. Try as he might, he couldn't see a difference between those allowed in and those denied entry. Neither frametype nor state of repair seemed to make any difference. Just what were they to be judged on?

Finally their turn came, but the guard stopped them before they could go in together. "One at a time," zie said.

"But-" Orion panicked briefly, only forestalled by protesting further when Drift came to the front. Of course - acting as their scout. Even so, it was agony to watch him disappear behind the thick doors into an uncertain fate. They'd never been truly separated since their trek began.

A few moments of worry later, Drift's comm came back to them. //Well, that was... weird.//

//Weird?// Orion demanded. //Weird how?//

//...better to just come through,// Drift sent back, glyphs for chagrin and confusion attached to the message. //Ain’t dangerous.//

Megatron frowned, not liking his lieutenant's sudden mysterious act any more than Orion was, and when the guard came back to lead the next one through, Megatron strode forward. Orion was left to blink bewilderedly at the twins and await Megatron's comm call, which - when it came - sounded... amused?

//You have to experience this for yourselves,// he said.

//What are they _doing_ in there!?// Orion demanded - then the guard returned, and Orion had had quite enough of waiting. "I'll be next," he said, and followed zir through the gate.

He was led, not through the gate and into the city itself, but along a dark tunnel and into a close, dank room draped with steelmesh - steel _silk_ , he realized with shock, albeit rather old and frayed thin - where a heavily robed figure waited. Seated on a low, wide chair without a back behind a heavily engraved table, they put Orion rather in mind of an Iaconian seer, for reasons he couldn’t quite place. "Please be seated," they said - their field so muffled by their wraps it was impossible to pick up on their frametype or their pronoun, if they had one. "Here for the baths, I assume."

Orion shifted - the tone had been mild, not at all accusatory, but perfectly calculated to make him feel grubby. He sat on the floor in front of the table with ill grace. "What is all this," he started to ask, but the robed mech held up a finger.

"Silence, please," they said. "Primus’ wisdom speaks, and we must listen."

They picked up a small container and gave it a shake. It rattled oddly, and Orion's optics brightened in shock. _Fortune-telling sticks! They decide who is allowed to enter based on random chance?_

Evidently they did. Rattle-rattle, went the container, while his host muttered subvocally, and Orion propped his chin on his fist and tried to console himself by picturing Megatron's face upon being greeted with this. _No wonder he was laughing,_ he thought with sour humor as the robed mech upended the container and shook out a few marked sticks out onto the table between them.

For a moment the mech studied them in silence, as did Orion. Each stick was marked in different patterns of colored stripes, and he was sure each variation of pattern was meaningful just as with the luck-reading cards he was familiar with back home, but he couldn't read anything at all in the random scatter of sticks or from which symbols they touched on the table. "Is that... good?" he ventured as the silence stretched out.

The robed mech actually jumped. "I - I need to consult with my fellows," they blurted, all the mystery lost in a fluster as they scrambled to their pedes in a rush.

Orion's shoulders slumped. "Should I just go back outside?" _Of course it would be me that draws the unlucky card. Sorry, Megatron..._

"No," squeaked his host again, "no, no, not at all! Please wait right there, all shall be well-!" With that they fled in a flurry of frayed steelsilk, leaving Orion baffled and rather worried. He waited for some time, growing more and more anxious and fielding increasingly agitated comm calls both from Megatron ahead and the twins left behind.

//I don't know!// he said over and over again. //They just - blurted out that they needed to consult other people and ran for it!//

//If we have to, Drift and I will push back through and we will run for the inter-city highway,// Megatron said grimly. //We can't be trapped here.//

//This was a bad idea,// Drift muttered, and while Sideswipe was busy bluffing that it'd all be just fine, you wait, Sunstreaker growled subvocal agreement with the smaller mech.

Finally, as Orion was beginning to think he really would have to break and run if only from sheer nerves and to stop the wrangling over their comms, the Urayan came wobbling back into the room, one of their be-wrapped fellows close behind. This one looked Orion over with sharp optics, assessing him, and he fought to sit straighter and not shiver.

"Do you see?" hissed Orion's host, pointing at the sticks. The newcomer leaned over to see them, studying them for longer than their coworker had. At length they straightened, hidden hands folding into their sleeves.

"I see," they commented mildly, telling Orion precisely nothing. _Not helpful!_

Orion raised a careful hand, feeling absurd. "I'm afraid I don't."

The newcomer looked at him full in the face for the first time, studying his face as intently as they had studied the augury sticks, though mercifully for a far shorter amount of time. Orion shifted uncomfortably - was this the Matrix's doing again? Had a simple fortune-telling game betrayed his Primacy?

_How would that even work? Is there a particular pattern for 'this person is the Prime'?_

"Your arrival is auspicious," the newcomer pronounced at length. "Welcome to Uraya."

Orion blinked. "...wait, that's it? After all that fuss?"

"My colleague is new, and simply wanted confirmation," the newcomer answered smoothly. "Please, rejoin your friends. I will check the remainder of your party through directly."

Orion was about to protest, but thought better of it. _After all this, to have Sunstreaker or Sideswipe get an unlucky draw!_ "Thank you," he said, standing. //Megatron? They're letting me through.//

//What took them so long?//

//I'm not sure.// Orion glanced over his shoulder as he left - the two fortune-readers were back to studying the sticks again, and the sharp-opticed one looked up to watch him leave. //I think I got an unusual fortune.//

//I don't like the sounds of that.// Megatron's voice was grim still, any earlier amusement long gone. Orion hurried to find him, pushing through the folds of steelsilk as they clung to his hands and shoulders - what he wouldn't give for his little phosphor-sprite in that moment, but his tiny companion had had to stay closer to the Sea of Light than they would be going, and had reluctantly resigned to being left behind. The little light would have been a great comfort in the near-panic that the thin, fading shrouds inspired as he struggled on through the suffocating haze of fabric. It seemed to go on forever until he finally stumbled back out into starlight, Megatron catching at his arm as he almost fell flat on his face.

"Finally!" Megatron exclaimed. "The twins are coming behind. Sunstreaker is less than happy about the draperies."

"I can see why," Orion choked out, and glanced around for Drift. The smaller mech was still in sight, waiting at the edge of the bare, open semi-circular plaza that the drape-tunnel led to, ignoring and ducking away from yet another robed mech who was trying to usher him down the central avenue. It felt incredibly exposed after the closeness and anxiety of the tunnel, nothing like the safety and comfort Orion might have felt in one of the dockside tunnels or a Kaon mine, and that left a niggling sense of unease behind as well. Drift shifted on his pedes as he was spotted, but nodded to Orion before he went back to scanning the path leading away from the wall.

The wall...

It rose up over their heads, impossibly high, and Orion finally realised why it had taken so long to reach the end of the tunnel. The walls that had seemingly acted to keep the river dammed from the outside - here, it felt much more like they were actually here to keep the Urayans _in._

//Creepy, huh,// Drift commed dryly, and this time Orion's shiver wouldn't be denied.

*

For all Uraya's sins, the rumors of its bathhouses were not exaggeration.

"This is worth the price of admission," Orion sighed, sinking to his shoulders into hot cleanser oils. The public baths were busy but not crowded, even with every new admittant to the city being herded into the nearest bathhouse the moment they passed through the entryway; they'd found a bath more than big enough to accommodate all of them, and best of all in the bustling warmth nobody was giving them a second glance. For a while they were just tourists.

"It's hard to believe all this is available to the public," Megatron admitted, though he sank down to his chin as aches he'd carried for a lifetime began to ease. "Such luxury would have been reserved for the bosses in Kaon."

"There are public bathing facilities in Iacon," Orion murmured, "though nowhere near as pleasant as this. More like the cold showers we had to use before they'd let us in here. Perhaps Uraya's doing something right after all, despite the fuss with fortune-telling."

"Are you sure we have to go to Iacon?" Sideswipe asked wistfully. "Couldn't you move the headquarters here instead?"

"I can't very well advocate for justice from the bath," Orion protested. "...however tempting the thought is."

Megatron laughed out loud, then shifted until everything but the brow of his heavy helm and his face was under the surface of the hot cleanser. "I wouldn't be surprised if some of the Senators do exactly that!"

"Bath on wheels?" Sideswipe grinned. "Sounds good to me."

Orion hummed dubiously, casting about for a distraction before Sideswipe could take it into his head to go ahead and try it. "Are we sure Drift's all right down there?" he asked, inching up on the bench that ran around the inner rim of the bath. "He's not come up for a while now."

Everyone had been directed into the showers before the baths, like it or not, and Drift had groused at the temperature and the enforced scrubbing along with the rest of them. He'd seemed resigned to it, but when they'd found the bath they were now soaking in, his optics had widened a little and he'd backed up until Sunstreaker had splashed fearlessly into it and ducked under the surface. Sideswipe and Megatron had been only clicks behind, and Orion had smiled concern at Drift as he got in, and that had seemingly decided things. Drift had dangled a reluctant pede in the water, then his optics had flared wide and he'd dropped into the deepest part of the bath as quickly as he could without actually tripping over anyone else's legs. He hadn't come up since, and Megatron's occasional nudges with a pede had only led to Drift batting the poking appendage away with a significant reaction-time delay.

"Well, I don't think he's actually melting," Megatron said, but he nudged Drift again. //All right down there, or have you rusted?//

//Waaaarm,// came back a blissful, rather blurry voice, and Megatron's optics softened a little before he gave Orion an arch look.

"Well, there you are."

"Silly me," Orion agreed. "It's your job to fish him out when it's time to go, by the way."

"Oh, is it." Megatron's mouth quirked.

"He likes you. He probably won't bite you _too_ hard." Orion gave him a serene look in answer to Megatron’s amusement, and leaned back in the oil. His backstrut sent happy signals to his processor as kinks loosened in the warmth. "Mmm. Definitely doing something right in Uraya."

He got some amused pokings for that, but aside from idly twitching his leg in Megatron's general direction, he paid them no mind. Next cycle it would be back to work - getting to know Uraya's people, not just its bathing facilities. He wanted to soak up as much warmth and relaxation as he could before he started up again.

*

There was more to Uraya than baths, of course. There was superstition and paranoia, strict rituals to be observed on what felt like every change of shift or mid-shift or whenever a Councilmech turned around too quickly, and despite the luxury of the public baths it quickly began to feel like they were being kept constantly off-balance. There was a routine and a ritual for every interaction, which made everything take twice as long as it needed to, even going to pick up and pay for their energon rations - the shopmechs intoned and gestured, and either wearily or impatiently prompted the ignorant foreigners through what they needed to do to respond. But Orion's seemingly shocking luck held and impatience didn’t turn to censure, and any interruptions that called for checking the sigil dice or consulting the robed mechs on every street corner turned out in his favour, which paved their way to meeting a few bath-masters and learning the ins and outs (especially outs) of a few forms of Urayan ritual baths.

Their questions were generally met with a hint of suspicion, though most of the officials held on to an element of indulgence with them, and seemed to approve of Orion’s willingness to work with the city instead of bumble along in ignorance. Orion did his best to learn, despite Megatron's obvious impatience and the twins' comments over comms. He'd thought Kaon had nothing to teach him once, too. At least Drift was willing to go along to the baths with him without huffing.

Indeed, if anything, Drift was picking up the rituals and rote responses faster than Orion. All of Drift's ferocious concentration was currently focussed on a tiny mech with impeccably clean armour - not even close to glossy, as the Urayans disdained waxes for the films they would have left on the waters’ surface, but you could probably have had the mech walk into a sterile lab without a murmur from any decon protocols - as they demonstrated the proper way to handle a ladle of water from _this_ side of the river or _that_ particular pool; if _this_ happened then one must respond _thus_.

Later, when they were allowed to wobble out of the open-air bathing space and away from the bath-master's all-seeing scrutiny, Megatron was still grousing subvocally about having to kneel on hard tile for cycles before doing anything useful. Drift was quiet, though it wasn't the same as his usual sharp-edged watchfulness, as though he were too busy thinking to talk; this silence was almost wistful, and he glanced back at the clear, warm oils now and again. Orion knew better than to assume Megatron hadn't noticed, but he couldn't help worrying. Over, well, everything, it seemed.

Uraya was a place of strict order and ritual, which gave it a certain kind of stability that some would find appealing, even reassuring, but those walls...

"You okay?" Sunstreaker said quietly to Drift, having trailed a little behind the others.

"Yeah. Just." Orion turned his head slightly and saw Drift give an unhappy little shrug. "You know. Hard to imagine getting really clean."

Sunstreaker only made a little hum of acknowledgement, which confused Orion no end, but he supposed that's what he got for listening in on other people's conversations.

*

It was no great surprise when Drift reported they were being watched more than the other visitors, but it was still nerve-wracking after Simfur. Orion's preternatural luck kept drawing attention, and though he tried to avoid any activity that required consulting the fickle spirits of Fortune, that was a losing effort in a city where the fickle spirits of Fortune had been woven into every blasted thing. Every casual interaction required some kind of complicated greeting, and occasionally checking the ritual protocols and the fortune sticks to see if it was wise to speak to a stranger right then; every quarter-shift was marked by wordless song drifting down from the walltops and mingling with the strained trickle of the river, and no-one in Uraya was all that inclined to speak socially with strangers. Not even Drift had managed to find a casual gathering point that wasn’t a bath or the riverside with their complement of robed officials, and he was highly unnerved to find himself _watched_ and _seen_ everywhere he went, no matter how careful he was.

"Should we leave?" Orion asked them all on their third off-shift in the city. "I feel like I haven't made much progress with the people here, but..."

"But, it will be harder to leave this city in a hurry than it was Simfur," Megatron pointed out. "We should secure our route out now."

Orion sighed, accepting the weight of defeat settling over his shoulders. "Very well. We'll start arranging transport out in the on-cycle." Drift glanced his way, and Orion knew he wore the same wistful look the smaller mech did.

They recharged, and this time Orion felt himself joined by a sixth presence in the silence of his rest. _So this is a Prime,_ the presence murmured. _No wonder the elders are in disarray._

 _Are you the psychopomp of Uraya?_ Orion asked silently, blinking up at the other mech.

He felt, rather than saw, the being bow. _I have that honor,_ ei said. _Please forgive my city. They mean you no harm, but they don't quite know what to do with you. The Matrix affects causality, you see. It is a wonder, but one that makes them nervous._

 _How did it come to this?_ Orion wondered. _This - utter reliance on auguries and ritual?_

 _If the river upon which your city was built dried up in a matter of planetary rotations,_ was the somber reply, _wouldn't you grasp for an explanation? Any security you could to stop something worse happening?_

Orion’s vents caught. _So quickly?_ he asked worriedly. _And completely? How could that happen? ...is there something we could do to help?_

The being smiled, and as Orion watched it became easier to make out something of eir frame. An aquatic, he thought in some surprise, eir hydrofoils fluted and fanned out behind eir like a train and mirrored in eir high, sweeping helmfins. Eir smile widened.

 _You are just as they said,_ ei murmured, and Orion ducked his head in embarrassment. 

_The Urayans are just as much my people,_ he fumbled. _If I am to be Prime, should I not do what I can for them?_

The psychopomp reached out, a delicate hand curling over Orion’s shoulder. _Thou art the Prime,_ ei said softly, with a weight to the words that had Orion standing straighter. _Thy words show it, and thy spark shines bright. If I can possibly help you in this, I will._

 _Thank you._ Orion relaxed. _May I ask your name?_

_I am called Wavereader. Look for me in the ripple of light on water; I will guide thee._

*

Orion had one last ritual bath before they left Uraya: a purification ritual consisting of only a few ladlefuls of cold cleanser and a lot of rote scrubbing. Megatron and the others were less than enthused, but Orion convinced them of the strength of his intent if not the ritual’s necessity, and they waited for him faithfully, if not entirely patiently.

Orion knelt in the small bathing chamber, still and silent as the pair of attendants dribbled cleanser on him and sang their chant. He would have liked to say he was meditating, but he had no real idea how one went about it. Perhaps being half-hypnotized by the singing chants counted.

“Thank you,” he said after, his plating tingling where the cleanser had been buffed in a section at a time. “You sing beautifully.”

The attendants flustered; one hid behind her ladle. The other bowed, a gesture Orion returned. He returned to his friends feeling a little better about things, and a little more prepared to follow _the ripple of light on water._


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our heroes have a bit of trouble getting out of Uraya, and even more after they leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for canon-typical violence in this one. And I mean IDW-typical, not G1-typical.

Leaving Uraya turned out to be about as difficult as Megatron had originally feared. When they approached the gate they had entered by, they found it locked and barred - abandoned, it seemed, until the next freighter was due. Megatron, then Orion, both tried their hand at shifting it, but despite their great strength there was no purchase and no control panel they could find. A conveniently-passing robed mech informed them that the gate would not open, could not be opened, and to go about their business; they lingered by the gate watching the group with hard optics until Orion acquiesced and dragged Megatron away. 

Turning their purposeful walk into a...casual stroll around the walls that encircled the city, the five of them made a quiet survey of what exits they could find. As they crossed the arching bridge that spanned the canyon where the river had once been, Sunstreaker trailing his fingertips along the curve of the wall as they walked, the five of them paused to look back up the course the river had once taken.

//One gate,// Drift muttered darkly, slouching against the wall and glaring at the trickle far below. //One way in, one way out.//

//’Side from the river,// Sideswipe added, too fearless by far and leaning dangerously far out over the drop. //You wouldn’t fit a minibot through that grating, though, and that thing’s made to stand up to erosion like woah. Even that cannon of yours wouldn’t shift it, boss.//

//Hmm.// Megatron looked out across Uraya, the looming sweep of the walls fanning out to either side of them, down at the mechs moving back and forth at the canyon’s edge as though the great river were still there, the distant voices floating down from overhead to sing mourning into his audials. He shook his head sharply. //We are not staying here if there’s nothing to be done. Short of turning the city upside-down and shaking it, I fail to see how we can help.//

//We can probably help them more by leaving than overturning what they have here,// Orion said softly. //With the river failing, they are shutting themselves off more and more. Soon they won’t let anyone in, or out.//

//Far better that we leave before that happens,// Megatron said firmly, and turned to keep walking. Orion followed, worry mingling with the pool of nascent ideas for escaping the city.

//Being watched again,// Drift reported suddenly. Orion glanced up in alarm, though he didn’t expect to see anything. //Two marks approaching from up the wall.//

//We’ll withdraw,// Megatron decided, taking Orion’s arm and steering him towards the nearest stairs. His grip was just this side of painful - Megatron was _not happy._ Feeling so trapped - Orion didn’t blame him.

As they reached the ground, the edge of the wall’s shadow rippled faintly. Orion couldn’t help it - he looked up, just in time to catch a glimpse of two figures, robed in darkness against the starlight.

*

They sought him out at the oilhouse, where he was holding a table while the rest of his party fetched their fuel. Orion stiffened as they sat down flanking him, two robed Urayans so nondescript they could only have been government agents, and almost rose to leave when one of them held up a peaceable hand.

“We won’t take up too much of your time,” they said. “You are the one called Orion Pax, yes?”

“You must know already,” Orion answered stiffly, scanning the crowd for a glimpse of a familiar silver helm. They must be on their way already - Drift’s watchfulness had yet to fail them.

The speaker nodded acknowledgement. “There is a ritual that takes place ornly, at the riverside,” he said. “The one who performs the ritual is chosen by lot - thus proven to bring the best possible luck to the ritual workings.”

“I thought only a select few were allowed to approach the riverbanks,” Orion answered, doing his best to keep suspicion out of his voice. _Just a tourist, nothing to see._

The other robed mech took over speaking. “Sometimes, mechs of exceptional luck can be... selected.”

 _Selected._ Orion tried not to twitch too visibly. “I wouldn’t call myself exceptional,” he said cautiously. “Or lucky.”

“You are too modest.” The mechs both smiled politely, and Orion wondered at the threat that lurked under their manners. “You will be escorted to the riverbank on the cycle of the ceremony. One of the Council will instruct you there.”

Tank sinking, Orion opened up his comm and to the Pit if the mechs flanking him picked up on it. //A little help!// he sent, and got a wordless growl of frustration from Drift in reply.

//Coming,// Megatron said tersely, and Orion’s optics flickered - he could just about see the top of Megatron’s helm past a solid wall of mechs who had _coincidentally_ crowded into the oilhouse in bulk and were barely moving, let alone letting anyone else through. What a string of coincidences the auguries are pulling today!

“That is...very kind of you,” he said slowly, “and an honour, I’m sure. My party and I were moving on to our next destination soon - when would the ritual be held?”

The first mech smiled again, and this time it was a very satisfied smile with the threat underscored only lightly. “Your leaving will not be an issue,” they said, and Orion’s tanks plunged into his pedes. “You will be informed when you will be escorted to the riverside, at the appointed time.”

“And when will the _appointed time_ be?” Orion repeated, a little louder and reminding himself of Megatron. The mechs didn’t answer, rising from the bench he’d claimed and moving into the crowd without any of the difficulties Orion’s friends were facing, and as they disappeared Orion heard again the haunting quarter-shift song. This time it sounded triumphant rather than mournful, and that only made Orion’s tanks churn.

Megatron finally made it to his side, setting a cube of fuel in front of him hard enough to splash. //What’s-//

//We need to get out _now,_ // Orion told him, and forced himself to take a drink. His tank was churning, but he’d need the fuel. //They want to force me to stay in Uraya to perform rituals for them.//

Megatron’s optics flashed in shock, then dimmed to a seething crimson. His hand landed on Orion’s shoulder, gripping firmly. //Fuel up,// he ordered. //I’ll take care of this.//

Orion took another swallow amid a minor crisis of conscience: if the Terror of Kaon descended on these frightened, superstitious mechs, it would be counterproductive to say the least, but _slagged_ if he wasn’t appreciative. Also a bit turned on.

*

The Terror of Kaon did not descend upon the officials of Uraya, though he was tempted. Instead he let the twins introduce him to a minibot who introduced himself as a smuggler.

“It’ll never work,” he said as soon as he saw Megatron. “Big lummox like you? We’ll get caught for sure and I’ll get chucked into the bathhouse furnace. Name’s Huffer, by the way.”

Megatron reset his audials, then his optics. “You have an unusual take on life, for a smuggler,” he said flatly, and blinked again when Huffer let out a dismissive snort.

“Shows what you know about Uraya,” the minibot informed him, and marched around Megatron in a dismissive circle, looking him up at down. Megatron hadn’t felt so exposed since he was assessed for the arena, and there at least he had _expected_ to be stripped down and replated. He glanced over at the twins, silently demanding an explanation - Sideswipe looked torn between affront and hilarity, Sunstreaker outwardly deadpan but noticeably tense to one who knew him. _Well, at least we’re not expecting smooth passage,_ he sighed to himself.

“There are five of us,” he said instead, cutting into the minibot’s muttered griping. “Another of a similar weight class as myself, the other smaller and lighter than those two. We must be out of the city as soon as possible-”

“Awww, are you serious?” Huffer complained, poking his head around Megatron’s knee to meet his gaze; Megatron, jostled from his train of thought, could only blink down at him. “Five of you in a rush job? That’ll cost you.”

“That’s fine,” Megatron answered, though inwardly he winced. Their funds were running low; another disaster like this and they’d never make it to Iacon. “There is another matter-”

“It never rains acid but it pours,” Huffer lamented.

Megatron gritted his denta. “My companion has caught the attention of the officials here, and I believe they mean to force him to stay.”

Huffer frowned at him - not a disbelieving frown, just a kind of ‘Primus, what is this slag?’ “So it’ll be that much more impossible to sneak you bots out. Ugh, typical. What do they want him for anyway?”

“He’s really, really lucky,” Sideswipe supplied, when Megatron refused to answer. “So they want him at those rituals they do at the riverbed.”

Megatron half expected Huffer to be impressed, but the minibot only rolled his optics. “Those rituals are never gonna work, I don’t care how many lucky charms they throw at the whole mess.” Megatron was left blinking as Huffer grabbed a datapad and scribbled a quick map on it. “Okay, so if you can get to the old boathouse here-” pointing to an X alongside a wide squiggle that must have been the river - “by point five before the rest cycle without anyone spotting you, I’ll have something ready to get you outta here. It probably won’t work though.”

“We’ll take our chances.” Megatron nodded, and Huffer erased the map.

“I guess that’s something. At least you’ll be on time and offlined.” The minibot pushed his datapad back into subspace, then squared his shoulders. “Point five before the rest cycle. Don’t forget. If I get caught and dropped in the furnace because you’re late, it’s on your helm.”

“Why me,” Megatron muttered to himself, watching Huffer stomp away. Sideswipe inched over to him, patted his gauntlet rather gingerly.

“Well,” he offered, “Ol’ Grumpy there was right about one thing, we’d better be on time.”

“Stop helping, Sideswipe.”

*

One small upside to their previous explorations was that they weren’t suspected of being up to anything when, as a group, they headed out for their regular walk around the city. Sideswipe ambled on ahead, chattering away, with Sunstreaker and Drift trailing behind. Orion stuck as closely as he could get to Megatron without looking too suspicious, though he wasn’t at all sure how well he managed it. At this point, he was half-convinced he’d never want to be left alone again no matter which city they were in at the time.

They passed the boathouse twice before they even attempted approaching it, Drift’s preferred tactic when approaching potentially hostile territory. Nobody came storming out to surround the group, not so much as an alarm was raised. Megatron, never losing his pinched expression, nodded and led the way in.

The boathouse itself, when Orion got close enough to see detail, looked ready to collapse in a pile of rust: a useful facade, as he discovered when they entered. Inside the place was well-maintained, clear of clutter, and contained one pede-tapping minibot.

“About time you showed up,” he complained, “I was beginning to think you’d been stuffed in a steelmesh sack by the ritual masters.”

“Pardon us for being careful,” Sideswipe retorted. “We’re on time, aren’t we?”

“Ehh, I guess so. Early is better; it’s rude to leave people waiting.”

“Yeesh, you’re picky!”

Megatron’s optic twitched.

“ _Is there a point to any of this,_ ” he grated out, and Sideswipe subsided at the strain in his voice. The minibot only sighed, pained and put-upon and Megatron desperately wanted to punch something.

“There’s only two ways to get out of the city,” Huffer explained, and Megatron’s joints ground at the condescension in his voice. “Through the gate, or over the wall.”

“No kidding,” Drift muttered in an undertone that only Megatron heard - the sarcasm in his voice helped a little, if only so that Megatron didn’t throw his hands in the air and start pacing. 

“What about the fliers?” Sunstreaker was asking, and the minibot snorted in derision.

“No fliers in Uraya,” he said. “Can’t keep ‘em in, and they don’t like that here. The air traffic up there’s all skiffs and speeders taking messages - used to be they had little aquatic frames for that, but it’s not as quick when they gotta run instead of take the canals.”

“Charming,” Megatron commented. “Can we move on?”

Huffer made a sour face at him on general principle. “Gate’s locked and alarmed,” he explained further, “and there’s patrols on the walls, but I know their schedule. Unless they’ve changed it, in which case we’re all slagged. Here.” He nudged a box out from under a tool bench and pulled out its contents. “Drape this over yourselves.”

“What is it?” Orion asked, reaching out to take it.

Fine steellinen studded with a network of circuitry draped itself over his arm. “Baffle cloak,” Huffer explained. “Careful with it, I’ve only got the one.” Orion shook the cloak out and spread it open, gathering up his friends close together under it. “Now, assuming you all don’t trip over each other, or manage to rip the cloak,” Huffer instructed as Sideswipe and Sunstreaker elbowed each other, “we can get to the wall without setting off any sensors. From there it’s just a quick manual lift ride to the top and another down the other side.”

Megatron reset his audials. “That’s _it?_ ” he demanded, and promptly got an aggrieved look from the minibot in return.

“Oh, sure, _that’s it._ Have you got any idea how expensive a good baffle cloak is? Steellinen doesn’t come cheap, even in this crazy city, and it’s _not_ an easy thing to program, and then you’ve got to make sure the patrols don’t get you _and_ dodge the chanters, and don’t even get me started on-”

“All right, all right!”

“Can’t have drama in everything,” Drift muttered, then swore as Sideswipe tried to huddle further into the cloak and trod heavily on Drift’s pede. His attempt to jerk away from the pain sent him bumping into Megatron, Orion clutching at the cape with one hand as it slipped and clonking Sunstreaker in the face with the other, and Huffer stood watching the whole thing with an expression of deep, deep mourning.

“This,” he proclaimed, “is all going to end in tears.”

*

The story of a group of mechs vanishing from under the narrowed optics of Uraya’s council took longer to reach the audials of those outside the city, mostly thanks to their usual isolationist policies but also out of self-defence. To have a mech whose very presence sent out sparkles of promise like light on water within their grasp, and to then lose him as though they were grasping smoke? There would be a revolt, or a panic. Uraya kept its secrets - but hadn’t reckoned with Huffer.

As soon as Orion and his friends ‘disappeared’, Huffer deemed his welcome in the city to have well and truly run out, and headed for home with what credits he’d earned from trading Tarnish steellinen over the table and various other outside-world luxuries under it. Soon enough, the Sonic Canyons’ minibot colonies were abuzz with the story of a mech lucky enough to have set Uraya on its audial - which, when various other Canyons traders and travellers came home with wild tales of a Prime who had been seen with the leader of the Kaon revolt, a Prime who had been recognised and embraced by the Sea of Light in Simfur, a Prime who had last been spotted in Polyhex dancing all through the Parade without pausing... 

The minibots rapidly connected the dots after consulting with Huffer over the mech’s description. Huffer’s report had hardly been complimentary, but after translating it out of complaints and downplaying, it was easy enough to see that the Prime and Uraya’s lucky mech were one and the same.

Unfortunately for Orion and company, the minibots weren’t the only ones able to make the connection.

*

“Who does this _hauler_ think he is?”

The way Senator Proteus spat ‘hauler’ with such unbridled contempt made even Attache flinch, and he’d worked his way up to being Proteus’s chief aide even as the Senator dismissed and burned out everyone around him. “He claims to be the next Prime,” escaped his lips before he could stop himself.

Proteus gave him a poisonous glare, and he winced. Proteus had mellowed out a lot in the vorn since he’d become a Senator and he’d grown more secure in his power, but here in his spacious office in the lightless bowels of the Senate, the vicious firebrand of old was given free rein. “I _know_ what he _claims,_ you miswire,” the Senator growled. “I want to know who he _is._ And where he came from.”

 _You asked who he_ thought _he was,_ went a rebellious mutter in the back of Attache’s processor, quickly crushed. “There are thirty-eight variants of the name ‘Orion’ registered in Iacon alone,” he reported, hoping the plain facts would bring Proteus around from his black mood. “The closest match is listed as deactivated following the terrorist attack on the docks. Intel is following up on the other matches as we speak, but I haven’t heard back from them yet.”

Proteus huffed. “And if they are left empty-handed?”

“Then the reports - which I remind you are second- and third-hand - are wrong, and this mechanism is not Iaconian.” Attache took a deep vent. “Senator, with the Matrix still unlocated, we must face the possibility-”

“-I know, I know! Smelt that Alpha Trion anyway.” Proteus stood and began to pace around. Fortunately his office was large enough to get a really good pace going. Attache stepped out of his way. “That’s all I need, some upstart who actually does have the relic. A true believer who thinks he’s a Prime. And after the Simfur Enforcers’ failure…”

“They were trying to apprehend the Terror of Kaon,” Attache supplied. “Or so it is reported.”

“I don’t believe a word of it.” Proteus snorted. “Can you imagine - that overblown _gladiator_ following a Prime around like a tame cyberhound?” He said the word ‘gladiator’ much as he’d said ‘hauler’ earlier. “It’s like something out of one of those romance novels the younglings like so much. No, you mark my words, it’ll turn out to be some hired bodyguard using Megatron’s name.”

Attache winced as Proteus’s gesturing hands sliced the air around him. “Shall I call off the strike team, then?”

“Certainly not.” Proteus turned that contempt on Attache next, a look that sliced him down to the struts. “I won’t be secure until their remains are laid in front of me for study.”

Attache bowed, quiet and respectful as inwardly their tanks roiled. “As you command, Senator.”

*

The distance between Uraya and Kalis was negligible, and with Orion still determined to discover the cause of the river drying up, it would have made the most sense to head there first. That was the main reason, along with the fear of angry robed pursuit, was the reason that instead they turned and headed for Nova Cronum. The shock of walking into the glossy, shining, _noisy_ city after the stark minimalism and quiet of Uraya made Orion’s head ring, and Drift as good as disappeared the entire time they stayed.

Nova Cronum was close to the Sea of Light, but there was still a fair distance to travel if they wanted to see the lights again. Orion briefly considered it, still harbouring a quiet wish to see Praxus and the smaller cities on the other side of the Sea, but that wish was whipped aside in favour of practicality when the Nova Cronum enforcers tried to lock them up for travelling in a party of mixed frametypes. They hinted strongly that a hefty bribe would ‘take care of the problem’, more credits than Orion had ever heard of - he wasn’t the only one thinking that, if Megatron’s increasingly furious expression was anything to go by - but the dilemma was quickly solved by Drift cracking the lead enforcer in the helm with a thrown lump of scrap plating from his chosen rooftop. The rest of their time in Nova Cronum was spent ducking, hiding, and getting intimately acquainted with the undercity that served the place, though that meant they met exactly the kinds of people that Orion and Megatron had hoped for.

“It’s all business for them,” one scavenger told them, rubbing absently over one dented shoulder. “Like, they buy up all the residential housing and turn it into combination offices and swanky quarters, and nobody can afford to live there anymore.”

That, of course, led to more investigation, and Orion being disarming and friendly at the administrative staff of some of the glossy towers. They never got even close to the upper echelons of Nova Cronum - given that it wasn’t easy to find any kind of public washracks, even the kind that Orion had been used to on the Iacon docks, they probably would have been given a wide berth anyway - but the general consensus of the admin staff was that they were only a paycheque or two away from a similar fate.

“It’s not like Iacon,” one of them said earnestly as Drift tried not to listen in. “It’s safer here, if you don’t count the Enforcers working for the businesses, it’s not like you’ve got the undercity to worry about, but sometimes people get fired for not smiling enough, or an outdated paintjob, and there’s no time for anything outside of working and recharging. I don’t even remember when I last saw my partner-”

They broke off, giving a group of high-powered and incredibly shiny mechs crossing the atrium (talking noisily and moving at speed) a bright, brilliant and utterly impersonal smile that made Orion more than a little uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry,” they said apologetically when the lift had closed behind the group. “I need to get on. ...sometimes I think maybe I’d be better off leaving and going somewhere else, but I don’t have the credits to spare.”

“I think we’ve heard enough,” Orion murmured to the others, then gave the admin worker a gentle, warm smile that visibly struck them to the quick. “Thank you for your time. Thank you very much - we appreciate it.”

“Oh,” they said faintly, and stunned, wondering optics followed them all the way out to the street. “You’re welcome.”

*

There was an old highway that ran from Kalis to Nova Cronum, which had worried Orion a little until he saw it. The immense amphibious mech who had almost shredded Megatron in Simfur had been haunting his recharge again, combined with the stress of having to sneak out of Uraya, and the thought of a long, lonely stretch of wide open highway had left him uneasy. Fortunately, or unfortunately, the highway was old and in poor repair, not to mention seemingly very rarely used. It looked unlikely that anyone would cross their paths on their way.

Given how their journey had gone thus far, he shouldn’t have been at all surprised when they were attacked.

The shots came from the air; that part _was_ surprising, though Orion had no time to unpack the source of his shock before the twins were hauling him down, into the cover of one of the abandoned buildings by the side of the road. Megatron, roaring challenges, donned his cannon and fired blast after blast into the sky; Orion looked back and saw one of his shots lance through a flier’s wing and shoulder. The scream as ei plummeted would haunt Orion’s recharge.

“Where’s Drift?” he burst out as the twins posted themselves at the entrances to the building. “I didn’t see him-”

“On a roof, probably,” Sideswipe answered, leaning into the doorway to scan for danger. “You know how he is- Why aren’t they converging on him?”

“What?” Orion drifted closer.

“The fliers. Megatron’s right out in the open, they should have their nosecones pointed at him.” Sideswipe gestured in confusion at the scene outside. “Helloo-oo, Terror of Kaon right there?”

“Do you really want them to attack Megatron?” Orion demanded. The image of Megatron _deactivated, a smoking ruin_ floated before his optics, and it felt like a cannon-blast to the spark.

“Better him than us,” Sunstreaker answered, “unless you’ve picked up a weapon with the range to tag fliers.”

Orion blinked helplessly at him, until something massive and black crashed through the ceiling with a howl of triumph. Sideswipe yelled, shoving Orion back and lunging forward with a fist cocked, Sunstreaker darting between his twin and Orion like golden lightning. 

The mech was big, their paint a matte black that had Orion scrambling to follow their movements in the half-light. Sideswipe swung at them and the mech blocked, then there was nothing but chaos as Sunstreaker shoved Orion further back to support his twin. The aerial frame was struggling in the close quarters, broad wings pinned tightly back as they jerked and lashed at the twins, but they were fast and strong and first Sideswipe, then Sunstreaker slammed into the walls.

Orion’s optics widened as the flier didn’t even pause; they leaped forward, the flare of a lasknife activating sending purple light skittering over their plating, and he threw himself to one side to avoid a swipe that would have cost him an optic.

“Why are you - doing this?” he gasped out, twisting inelegantly to avoid treading on Sunstreaker’s fingers. “Everything Megatron does is for his people-”

The flier didn’t answer, distaste touching their expression in silence. Orion dodged another swipe, once, again, then a war cry sent him stumbling - Sideswipe, leaping onto the mech’s back and hanging on, his arm transforming and slamming what had been a fist into the flier’s back. The mech snarled, then their optics flashed wide as their frame jerked - a ringing, slamming _clang-clang-clang- **splutch**_ , and Sideswipe’s piledriver broke through their chestplating in a tangle of wires and fluid. Orion’s tank rebelled, his legs wobbling, then had to lurch out of the way as the mech fell.

No one was there to catch him as he stumbled, Sunstreaker still picking himself up; he landed with a clatter and lay there for a moment as his tanks threatened to forcibly eject their contents. _This is wrong,_ part of him wailed as he locked all his siphons down to prevent the loss of perfectly good fuel. _This is all wrong!_

//The remaining fliers are orienting to your location!// Megatron roared, his comm-voice lancing down Orion’s neural net. //I’m in pursuit!//

He wouldn’t get there in time. //How many?// Orion asked, hauling himself to one knee and carefully not looking at the corpse of their attacker.

//Two,// came the grim reply.

//Understood.//

Orion lifted his helm as a pair of shadows descended from overhead, through the hole the first flier had made. “Stay behind us, big guy,” Sideswipe advised, kicking the corpse out of the way as he readied himself for their attack.

Orion locked optics with the lead flier, and understood. “That won’t be possible,” he answered, and stepped forward, shoulder to shoulder with the twins. “They’re here for me.”

The two fliers opened fire, and all was chaos.

*

Megatron headed for the broken-down shelter at a run. It would be hard to call it a building anymore - there was a vaguely Orion-shaped hole in the wall that lead onto the highway, the roof had well and truly collapsed, and Drift was swearing in his audial, low and biting.

//Slaggers got in,// he reported, and Megatron stepped up a gear.

He arrived in time to find Orion kneeling beside one of the fliers, the mech’s plating a ruin and their fans rattling as they vented hot air and a faint spray of energon. The look on Orion’s face...

“Well done,” Megatron said quietly, and rested a hand on Orion’s shoulder; powerful mechanisms hunched at his touch.

“Don’t praise me for this,” came the soft, broken reply, and Megatron bit back a sigh.

The flier coughed, a film of energon spraying over what had already gathered in the dents of their cockpit. Megatron’s attention snapped back down to them and he leaned in, deliberately looming.

“Who sent you?” he rumbled, low and soft and dangerous, and felt Orion startle at his side.

The flier coughed again. “Senate,” he grated, his vocalizer hissing and popping with damage. “Iacon.”

Orion startled again. “What?”

“Why?” Megatron asked, and blue optics narrowed in - either amusement or pain or possibly both.

“Y’ run ‘round - callin’ y’rself Prime,” he managed, and coughed up another spray. “What - y’expect?”

Orion sank back, one hand pressed to his mouth. The flier started to laugh at him, but another coughing fit choked off the sound. Megatron’s engine snarled.

“I offer,” he grated out, “a quick end.”

Orion’s head came up: another shock in a day full of them. The dying flier grunted. “Don’ - bother,” he said. “I’ll - join m’ squadmates - soon ‘nough. They didn’ - s-say - y’were a f-f-f-igh-t-ter,” he added, directing his gaze back at Orion as his vocalizer started to fail.

“I’m sorry,” Orion whispered, then Megatron pulled Orion away as the light went out of the flier’s optics. 

*

Somehow they made it to Kalis after that, though Orion didn’t remember a single step of the journey. A medic on the edge of the city offered them a place to sleep until the next on-shift, but Orion didn’t recharge at all. The low-grade burn of fatigue that had all but consumed him by the time his onboard shift-clock clicked over would have to do as penance.

To his miserable embarrassment, Orion later realised that he’d taken in very little about Kalis as a city. There were no surrounding walls, though the city itself was built in layered rings that suggested them; on investigation, Drift and Sunstreaker both reported that what had looked like barriers were long-dry waterways that had collected and directed the river. The metals of the city were dark, a deep dusty indigo that swallowed the light.

“It used to be beautiful,” their host said impartially, “but that was a long time ago. Now half the lights don’t work, and there’s nothing to reflect them even if they did.”

Orion blinked dully at her, noticeably not following, and the medic pointed as she packed up her own gear. “See the waterways? They were lit from underneath and the river would radiate the light out. I’ve seen a few old vid clips - was a frell of a thing. Doesn’t work without the river running, of course.”

“Of course,” Orion echoed, and managed a few pleasantries as Megatron asked more questions. The medic was just passing through, checking in on the few mechs who still lived here, before heading back through Tarn and on to Altihex.

“It’s a real shame,” she said as she stowed the last of her supplies, “but there’s hardly anyone left here. If I didn’t know better I’d call it a ghost town.”

Later exploration bore that out. The twins roamed through Kalis’ streets, unnerved by the quiet and the lack of people; Sideswipe talked loudly, laughed at nothing, and stayed close to his grim, silent brother. Drift, by contrast, stayed close enough to Megatron that Orion kept catching glimpses of him even through his exhaustion - flickers of a grey shadow that broke the dull monotony. When they did run into the Kalis mechs, they were few and far between and tended to keep their distance.

When Orion did finally manage to recharge that night - curled up in between a wall and Megatron’s chest, Drift sitting up and keeping watch in the gap between his legs and Megatron’s as the twins curled up at Orion’s pedes - he dreamed of fliers falling all around him, swinging for him even as they staggered and died, and a howling echoing voice screaming for him to _get out, get out, get out!_

He woke shaking, and they didn’t stay very long.

*

“Tarn’s a bad idea,” Drift argued on the road again. “It’s been lickin’ Iacon’s pede for vorns.”

Orion glanced at him, wanting to ask if that mental image was _really_ necessary, but Megatron was already grunting his agreement. “Very much so, but we can’t make Iacon in one shot, and we have to go there eventually anyway. If we fear Tarn, we may as well just go back to Kaon.”

“Is that an option?” Sideswipe asked wistfully.

“No. Not until we can replace the cost of the lost transport, at least.”

Orion couldn’t help chuckling a bit - count on Megatron to focus on the concrete and the pragmatic. He smiled apologetically when Megatron tossed an enquiring glance his way. “I was just thinking that I’m grateful you’re on this journey with me,” he said quietly, and Megatron’s vents stuttered.

“...As you should be,” he grumbled, but the gentle bump of his shoulder was anything but grouchy. “Tarn is primarily an offshoot of Iacon’s academies, and absorbs most of the processed materials shipped from Kaon. Exactly what they do with them, we don’t know, but I would advise caution.”

Orion’s optics widened. “Do you think they’re - they’re planning something, or working on something terrible?”

“Perhaps. My concerns are mostly that we will wind up trapped talking to an enthusiastically mad scientist long enough for security to catch up.”

*

Tarn turned out to be strangely familiar, at least to those in the party who had been within optical range of upper Iacon. Orion looked it over with a strange ache in his chest - the warm orange metals spoke to something still untarnished alongside his spark, the tug of _home_ that he couldn’t quite step back from. Tarn was smaller than Iacon and couldn’t sustain itself away from the bigger city and its producers, and when they drew closer, they could see it was oddly isolated from everything around it too.

“Like Uraya,” Sunstreaker muttered, and Drift nodded alongside him. Orion could see what they meant - the smooth, gleaming walls did ping a resemblance to the river city, as did the limited exits, but the highway and the canal system leading up to it were all well-maintained and well-travelled - and well-secured. There was no entry-by-lot system in Tarn: you had a travel permit stamped by an industry captain or an Academy official or you didn’t enter. Orion spent his time in the little satellite communities surrounding Tarn instead, getting to know the workers who served the students and scientists in the city: dispensermechs, fabricators, and service-sector workers for the most part. These were his people, or as close as he could come in Tarn, and he quickly became popular with them.

Hence, the second assassination attempt had witnesses.

 _“Prime! Prime! Prime!”_ the barflies and shiftmechs cheered as Orion wrestled a sleek groundframe half his size to the ground, as though they were watching a gladiatorial match. He would have bristled, but he was too busy keeping the assassin’s fletchette away from his optic. He was stronger, but the assassin was fast and _wiggly_ and determined to succeed where five fliers armed to the denta had failed.

_“Prime! Prime! Prime!”_

“I don’t want to kill you,” Orion pleaded, his massive hand bending the assassin’s hand back until the metal screamed in protest.

The assassin flashed her denta in a grimace/grin. “Don’t worry, you won’t.”

Orion felt her legs curl under him - his window of opportunity was about to slam shut. He shuttered his optics and, remembering the twins’ lessons on fighting a smaller opponent, did what he had to do.

 _Snap._ The fletchette fell from her hand, her arm broken cleanly. She shrieked in his audial as he bore down, using pain to paralyze her until the twins got to his side, grabbing her and dragging her out from under Orion. Orion let her go with relief. The crowd began to cheer, a wordless roar, and his tanks revolted at the sound. He stood sharply, jerking up to his pedes, and looked out over the ranks of cheering, bouncing mechs elbowing each other and grinning, fury boiling up in his spark.

 _“Stop that!”_ he roared before he could think twice, and the crowd fell silent in mutual shock. “I will _not_ kill someone unless there is no other choice! I won’t have murder reduced to a game, or - or entertainment for anyone who isn’t going to die for no reason! Death is not something to _cheer_ over - if she had missed or I had slipped, any one of you could have been killed!”

Clearly that hadn’t occurred to anyone, and Orion was too shaken and angry to do more than turn back to the twins and their captive. “I want to know,” he growled, “who sent you, and why.”

The assassin only huffed through her vents at him. “If you think I’m going to-”

Sunstreaker twisted her broken arm in one brisk, efficient movement, his face blank, and her words choked off into a muffled scream. Orion’s jaw dropped, anger chilling to a sick dismay, but Megatron leaned forward before he could say anything.

“I can guess,” the miner rumbled, silky and dangerous. “You were sent by the Iacon Senate to assassinate the Prime.”

Her optics were white with stress and pain, but the assassin lifted her chin high. “I don’t talk about my employers. I was sent to remove a fraud.”

Sunstreaker cranked her arm again, a dire warning, and her vocalizer _shrieked_ with feedback. “Sunstreaker,” Orion pleaded quietly. Sunstreaker shifted his shoulder a fraction, a quiet apologetic shrug.

“Fraud, is it?” Megatron leaned in, pinning the assassin with the red-lit glare Orion knew from being its subject enough times. “Is that what they told you? You do know you’re not the first assassin they’ve sent, don’t you?” That made her flinch. “It seems to me the Senate’s so keen on our Prime’s death precisely because they fear he is no fraud at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, guys, and sorry-in-advance for probably more delays in the future. We're sorting out a move and it's the most dreadful time of the year at 'Boots's work.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orion gets a guided tour of Iacon's darkness, and Drift's past.

As they crossed the border from Tarn into the vast sprawl of the Iacon city-state, their positions shifted. Orion didn’t notice at first, but Drift ghosted down from the outskirts of the highway to take Megatron’s place at the head of the group so that he could pick out a path - not into Iacon proper, as Orion had half-expected, but deeper under the outer skin of Cybertron than even the lowest levels of Iacon could have gone. Orion kept quiet to begin with, trusting his friends to know where they were going, but as the distant light of Iacon’s docks disappeared from sight and they kept heading down and down into paths less travelled, he spoke up.

“Which way are we going? I thought we were heading into Iacon.”

Drift didn’t answer, didn’t even look back. Megatron answered him instead without a pause. “We are going to Iacon, in a sense. What Iacon might have been, and might still become.”

A snort from up ahead, Drift nearly invisible in the growing dark, and Megatron inclined his head to the other mech. “All poetry, nothing practical,” Drift’s voice floated back to them, then added belatedly, “Probably gonna have to recalibrate from here.”

Orion blinked, confused, then Sunstreaker appeared beside him from what had looked like nothing but a shadow and he almost leaped out of his plating.

“Come on,” the smaller mech said. “It’s only getting darker from here, you’ll want to recalibrate your optics as low as you can go. Not easy with blue lenses.”

“Why can’t we use lights?” Orion asked in confusion, and blinked again as Megatron sighed.

“Because if you use your lights to see where you’re going, you will likely blind the people who live here. Not to mention it’s a waste of energy when you can just change your filters.”

They kept walking, down and down and down as it got darker and darker, and Orion began to understand the _where,_ if not the _why._ A place underneath Iacon spoken of in nightmare whispers among the laborers and used as a scourge by the supervisors, a place without hope or light of any kind: the Dead End. A tingle of the old fear of being _disposed of_ ran down his backstrut, but he knew better now - surely there was no place so hopeless that it couldn’t be escaped. Just look at Megatron.

And yet, as their path leveled out, Orion began to re-think his assumptions.

They stuck out on these streets: every building was crumbling, every light was broken, and the vanishingly few mechanisms they saw huddled from them or melted completely into the growing darkness as they approached. Orion almost felt ashamed of his state of in-good-repair. “Why has Iacon Maintenance abandoned this place?” he asked aloud, trying to deflect the feeling. “Every guidelight on the street is out.”

Ahead, Drift snorted his opinion of that.

“Nobody gets out of here,” he said flatly, an undercurrent of anger and pain floating back through the echoing darkness. “‘S only leakers and dead-ends. Why bother with the upkeep?”

“But that’s terrible!” Orion protested without thinking. “This is still part of Iacon, they have a responsibility-!”

Something flickered up ahead - Drift shaking his head, the sharp fins of his helm catching Orion’s optics as they struggled to compensate in the lower light. “This is the Dead End,” he said, sharp and low - Orion shivered slightly as he realised just how _quiet_ the levels around them were, how empty the streets past the rusting rubble of fallen metal. “Nobody cares. Get stuck here too long, you stop caring too.”

A horrible suspicion rose up from the bottom of Orion’s queasy tanks, finding his vocaliser before his processor could get involved. “You came from here.”

Drift barely paused, only the slightest hesitation between one near-silent pedefall and the next. “Long time ago.”

There was a defiant _don’t-care_ in his words, and it probably wasn’t all that long at all, but Orion didn’t miss how fragile that defiance could be, or the way Megatron’s optics flickered in fierce protectiveness. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt one of Megatron’s closest friends, even if he didn’t know Drift all that well himself, but that could be so easily done despite Drift’s hard armour...

Orion cycled his vents, feeling as though the darkness was following down into his systems, making his frame shaky and uncertain. “What do we need to do?”

A flicker of approval that felt like _Sideswipe_ brushed his field, and Orion could just-barely see Megatron’s nod. Drift didn’t turn around. “Witness. Meet people. Same as everywhere else.” He hesitated, and Orion wondered at it when Drift had always been so immediate and unreachable before. “Maybe stop at the clinic.”

“Clinic?”

Megatron’s hand fell on Orion’s shoulder when Drift didn’t answer, and Orion couldn’t help leaning into the solid comfort the other mech offered. “One thing at a time, Orion. One thing at a time.”

They marched on, Orion leaning into Megatron’s warm field as they picked their way through darkness and broken streets. The walls that were still whole, or at least partially standing, were streaked with rust and smears of unidentifiable things and layered in graffiti - ancient gang signs warred with what might have been prices for things Orion tried not to make assumptions about. It was hard when some of the scrawls trailed down towards a long-dried smear of internal fluids and what looked like rusted medical screws, a crude scrawl that looked like a transformation cog with a price alongside it, a piece of someone’s plating still jammed onto a scummy hook... 

Orion tried to hold onto his questions and his mounting horror, too aware that he’d already misstepped with Drift, but when they crossed what had once been a busy intersection and nearly tripped over a body amongst the detritus in the road, it was the last straw.

“Sir?” Orion knelt right there amidst his comrades, barely flinching when he felt the distinct rough flakiness of rust on the mech’s shoulder. The mech twitched and lay still, something hissing through a muffled vocalizer.

“Leave eir.” Drift’s voice was flat and cold. “If ei’s not dead ei will be soon.”

Orion ignored him, gently turning the mech over. In the dim light it was impossible to pick out details like color nanites or how far the rust infection had spread, but the general build was small and skinny. Good - easier to carry.

“Orion?” Sunstreaker hazarded as Orion straightened, the mech dangling limply in his arms.

“We’re going to a clinic, correct?” Orion felt his old determination flooding back - _finally, something constructive to do._ “That is where this mech should be.”

*

He couldn’t take much more of this.

It wasn’t that the Dead End was alien now, strange and frightening after Kaon’s light and sound - far from it. Drift could find his way blind here, lose the others and burrow in where even Megatron would never be able to find him. What both terrified and tugged on him was the urge to do just that, sink back into the dark, stinking safety of what he knew could never change.

Drift kept walking.

His guns were clipped to his hips, their heavy thu-thud against his plating as he moved an audible threat to the listening audials all around them - there was nothing he could do to counter Orion and Megatron’s sheer size, for all that the twins weren’t too bad at moving quietly, but if the bulks moving along behind him weren’t enough to warn off the gangs and siphonists then Drift himself, armed and alert in the lead, certainly would. He’d cleaned up enough to be a threat, before he left.

He just wished that Orion hadn’t picked up the leaker in the road. It hit too close, made his plating crawl under the modded armour he wore, and he could almost feel grime and rust and sour things itch-scraping deeper into his joints as he moved...

_Keep. Walking._

The voice in his head sounded like Megatron this time, the way he talked when Drift’d had the shakes in Kaon. He maybe hadn’t been as okay as he’d pretended, not gone as long without boosters as he’d claimed, but it - helped, having Megatron ordering him around. He could snarl and poke and let out some of the foul temper when it flared up, or keep his head down and do as he was told when he was too shaky not to.

How did Orion know the mech didn’t want to offline, anyway? That was how things _worked,_ but Megatron didn’t want his optimistic new friend’s processor cracked so soon. It’s what Drift himself had wanted after Gasket was killed, until he’d seen the Medic.

Frag, he shouldn’t be this jittery over seeing the mech again.

Keep walking.

Drift blew out hot air, drew in the smell of wet rust and old pain, and led them deeper into the dark.

*

The clinic wasn’t much to look at from the outside, as dirty and crumbling as every other building on the street, but it was the only building for levels around to have a working dim-watt bulb over the door. Orion waited outside with Megatron as the twins checked the perimeter; Drift entered first, gun-first and senses on high alert. The smaller mech had reluctantly muttered that it’d been a while since he’d come here last and that things might’ve changed, and no-one argued when Megatron followed his lead.

“Hello?”

Drift visibly stiffened at the soft, very young-sounding voice. Orion adjusted his optic filters - even the dim light inside the clinic was almost blinding compared to the pitch-darkness of outside - as Drift charged into the room ahead of the others, pistol raised and trained on its sole occupant: a bantamweight mech with a full mask and visor, quickly backing up against the wall with his hands in the air.

“Where is he?” Drift demanded.

The visor blinked carefully. “Where is who?”

“The medic!”

“I - I’m the only medic here. Only - were you looking for Ratchet, perhaps? He used to work here before the clinic was put on the training roster.” The mech - youngling, really - babbled as he scrunched up small, only stopping when Orion’s larger shadow fell over them both. “Oh,” he breathed. “Oh, the poor thing. Please bring him here - sir, if you wouldn’t mind taking a seat…”

Orion moved around him to lay the guttermech down on the battered medberth. Drift let the muzzle of his pistol fall, then quietly backed away; Megatron stayed on the edges of the room, optics following Drift’s retreat. Part of him wanted to flare up at the little medic - clearly not _Drift’s_ medic, and someone who knew him well enough could see that visibly hurt more than Drift wanted to think about - but instead he let Orion do the talking, and as soon as Sideswipe came ambling back in Megatron followed as Drift faded away to check the other rooms. Sideswipe stopped him by the door, reporting that Sunny wanted to keep his optics sharp and was guarding the door outside; Megatron rumbled an affirmative softly back to him, along with an order to watch over Orion, then padded after Drift.

Megatron watched from the doorway as Drift methodically went through each room - a storeroom _here,_ a small office _here,_ and the surgery connected to the tiny waiting room - just in case there was someone lurking around.

And a good thing he did, too. 

As Drift pushed open the door to the office, the panicked scuff of pedes was just enough warning - Drift ducked, lunged forward and _twisted,_ sending the charging mech in medic-whites bowling over his shoulder and almost up against Megatron’s legs. A pede under the mech’s side tipped the groaning pile of struts over, and squinched-shut optics widened in panic when he peeked and saw Drift’s pistol dangling over his nose and two strangers looking down at him.

“Y-you can’t just barge in here waving a gun around!” the mech squeaked, and Drift huffed at the attempted bravado. “I-I mean it! Put that thing away this instant, or-!”

“Or what?” Drift drawled, idly curious, but when the mech only spluttered he shook his helm in mock-disappointment and nudged the mech with his pede. “C’mon, up.”

Megatron groaned when Drift nudged the stuttering medic past him and into the clinic’s reception, but he wasn’t surprised. “I thought our aim here was to repair that foundling of Orion’s, _not_ terrorise the local medics. Or collect them.”

“Not local.” Drift poked the mech into a chair, ignoring the little flinch first-contact with the faintly sticky surface produced. “Iacon. The little one said something about training.”

“First Aid?” the other medic squawked, and managed to both wilt and puff himself up when both mechs turned to give him matching Looks. “If you’ve hurt him, you barbarians-!”

“See? Iacon.”

“Yes, yes.” Megatron strode forward, slow and considering, and loomed at a carefully-calculated angle over the other medic. Really, it was a shame Sideswipe was keeping an optic on Orion in the surgery room; he loved this kind of play-acting. “Now, I believe your colleague said something about the previous medic leaving?”

In between bouts of panicked threats and spluttering, they discovered that yes, Ratchet had worked there before; no, he didn’t come down to the Dead End anymore; yes, Ratchet had ordered that the clinic be added to the roster of places where junior medics went to get their practical experience over the course of their studies. 

First Aid, apparently, had _volunteered_ to come down here. He was the only one. Everyone else, the lanky medic included, saw the place as punishment detail.

“Bet him and Orion are best friends already,” Drift muttered, and Megatron snorted in amusement. They were about to ask for more details from their victim when a cry of distress lanced through the air. The two were instantly in motion, the lanky medic in tow and not complaining for once, back into the surgery where First Aid and Orion were bent over their foundling.

“Please, please, just one more sparkpulse,” First Aid was babbling, hands flying over the life-support machines as Orion held the foundling’s hand. In the light ei looked even worse, more rust than metal and eir back arched as if in pain. “Oh, oh no, please-”

The readouts flatlined and Orion cried out again, lowering his helm to the foundling’s hand. “Too late,” he mourned. “I’m so sorry.”

First Aid’s hands trembled as he shut the monitors off. “We - we usually are,” he said, clearly trying to sound brave. “Down here, we usually are.”

Megatron sighed. Leaving an increasingly prickly Drift to keep an eye on First Aid’s partner, he made his way over to Orion and laid an arm over his shoulders. “That mechanism offlined with someone caring about him,” he murmured as a trembling Orion leaned into the miner’s embrace. “That’s more than most of them get down here.”

A strangled sound escaped Drift’s vocaliser; Sideswipe blinked over at him in surprise, but the grey mech was gone. Moments later Sunstreaker came in, glaring and squinting in the dim medbay lights.

“He’s minding the door,” he said before Megatron’s interrogative gaze could turn verbal. “Don’t ask me, I just work here.”

First Aid managed a wobbly giggle at that, though it was a pale and watery thing. “I should - we should see to eir frame,” he said with that same trembling bravery. “I don’t suppose you know if eir had anyone to notify?”

“They never do,” the lanky medic muttered under his breath, and Sideswipe _accidentally_ bumped into him on the way to his brother’s side.

“Oops,” he said cheerily, and gave the medic a terrifying smile before turning back to First Aid. “Dunno, sorry. We pretty much literally tripped over him in a crossway.”

Both medics reacted, First Aid’s hands lifting to his face before he could catch himself, the other medic scowling. “Oh - oh no. We were told - that is, if someone down here lies down at a crossroads...they don’t want to be repaired. It’s an invitation to - to, well.”

“To all the other miserable sparks down here to cannibalise them for what they can get before the siphonists get them,” the other medic cut in, his sneering tone sharp enough to cut, and Megatron’s fists clenched. Orion blinked up at them with wet optics, and the bewildered guilt rising there was just another reason for Sideswipe to _punch that glitch right in the face._

Above the ensuing cacophony, where even Orion was lost in grief and bewilderment, First Aid’s voice rose. _“Stop that THIS INSTANT.”_

To his own surprise, Sideswipe stopped on a dime, fist cocked in the air; Megatron stepped aside without a word as First Aid stepped in between Sideswipe and his colleague fearlessly. “Being down here grinds you down,” he said sadly, kneeling to help the other medic sit up. “Let me see, Treads.” Treads reluctantly pulled his hands away from his face, revealing a respectable dent. “There. That should be easy to fix. No more brawling in my medbay,” he added, fixing Sideswipe with a disapproving look - a neat trick for a nearly featureless face. “This is a place of healing.”

“Please accept my apologies on his behalf,” Orion said, when it looked as though Sideswipe wasn’t going to apologize.

“It’s all right.” First Aid helped Treads to his pedes. “A lot of people fight about what to do, when they first get here.”

Megatron glanced between a sullen-bewildered Sideswipe and a just-plain-sullen Treads. “What will you do?” he wondered.

“Respect my patient’s wishes,” First Aid answered, avoiding Megatron’s gaze. “What parts I can - can salvage will go to repair others. ...I just wish I knew eir name, so I could tell the people who get those parts.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” Drift said from the doorway. Megatron’s optic ridge lifted, but the heave and flare of the smaller mech’s vents suggested he’d practically teleported back across the clinic at the first burst of shouting. “Can go ask around where we found eir, someone’ll know something.”

Megatron nodded. “Go. Take Sideswipe-”

Drift was already shaking his head, and this time both of Megatron’s ridges lifted. “Quick and quiet on my own.” He gave Megatron a dry, sharp-edged smile - “Not like I’d get lost.”

“Very well. In that case, Sideswipe can mind the front entrance. And won’t argue about it,” he added sharply when Sideswipe’s mouth opened to protest.

“Aww, frag,” the smaller mech muttered, but stomped off after Drift without another word.

*

It took Drift time to find anything at all about the mech they had found, but when he returned with eir name - Cutter, a loner from the deeper levels, someone another mech remembered seeing every now and then when ei wandered to the slightly more populated parts of the Dead End - Orion’s shoulders relaxed a little. First Aid actually thanked him, and Drift couldn’t find any words at all, only managing a stiff nod. The little medic didn’t seem to mind.

The entire diversion had taken them longer than planned, for all that they weren’t exactly on a tight schedule, and after leaving the medbay Megatron declared they needed somewhere safe to recharge. Everyone turned to Drift; there was no way to map the Dead End, given how buildings shifted and collapsed and the roads tended to blur around obstacles when the gangs got involved, and it took time to learn how to navigate by sound and pressure. Megatron could have done it, perhaps, if he’d known the way, but Drift oriented like a laser sight and aimed for the second-safest place he knew.

The sound Orion made when the perspective fell into place was rather squeaky.

“A _cityformer?_ ” He managed to keep it down to a strangled squawk in deference to the listening silence of the Dead End, but even then it seemed to echo and Drift visibly winced. “You’re saying we should recharge inside a _dead metrotitan?_ ”

Drift shrugged, stiff and awkward under the scrutiny. “Safest place I know down here.” _After the clinic, when the Medic was here. Nowhere was safer than with him._

Orion shook his head in amazement - rather unwilling amazement. “Very well,” he said, “if we must, we must.”

“I’ve slept in worse places,” Megatron commented lightly.

Orion glared at him sidelong. “I doubt that highly.”

*

Drift led them unerringly through - what _resembled_ streets and buildings, by design, but Orion couldn’t get his processor off the fact that this was a _dead body_ under their pedes. For the most part it was as dark and silent as the rest of the Dead End, just as scarred with infra-red graffiti and as treacherous underfoot, but as they continued Orion’s filters began to detect light and activate accordingly. Drift, sensing his companions’ confusion, glanced over his shoulder with a smirk. “Might not look like much out here,” he told them. “But it’s got a great view.”

They turned a corner, and were confronted with the brightest sky any of them had ever seen.

“Oh,” Megatron said softly, stepping forward with his optics glittering. Orion followed him; the city’s lights had blocked out most of the stars above, for all that he had been more used to seeing a few stars here and there in the quieter areas of Iacon’s docks. By contrast, Megatron had been forced underground for most of his functioning - what stars he had seen were short, snatched glimpses from the shallower mine shafts, or stolen moments away from industrial lights. Here, in the long dark of the Dead End, they looked through a far-distant gap in the levels overhead and watched whorls of glimmering colour dance slowly, gracefully with the stars. Static in the thin atmosphere, perhaps, or light reflecting through the pollution of Iacon’ skies; whatever it was, it crowned the stars in brilliant blues and pinks and greens.

Orion could feel the quiet awe blooming in his friend’s field, and reached out to touch Megatron’s hand without taking his own optics away from the glory above.

Drift half-climbed the slope of a tumbledown wall, settling himself where the roof met a sound joint; Sideswipe scrambled heedlessly up after him, his optics fixed on the sky overhead, and Sunstreaker followed without a word. Drift hissed a warning when the broken structure began to creak and flapped a hand; the twins moved to a safer point without argument or looking away from the sky.

“Only place outside the clinic you get light down here,” Drift murmured after long moments, his voice soft and almost as though he’d forgotten he wasn’t alone. “Used to come up here sometimes, watch the stars.”

“It’s beautiful,” Orion replied quietly, and watched the smaller mech’s sharp silhouette turn against the sky. Sideswipe hummed acknowledgement; Sunstreaker said nothing at all, but stared up at the glimmering wash of light and colour with fierce, bright optics. A sigh, and Drift shook his head.

“Yeah, well. Good to see it again, I guess.” He slid down from the roof without looking back, walking into the dark. “Wait here.”

Orion blinked after him, then glanced at Megatron in confusion. The miner’s optics were damp, and his plating ruffled when he realised Orion was watching him instead of the stars. “We need somewhere defensible to recharge,” Megatron said gruffly, but he didn’t let go of Orion’s hand.

“Of course,” Orion murmured, and his hold tightened on Megatron’s hand - gently, briefly. “I owe Drift an apology, I think. I didn’t believe him when he told us how bad this place was.”

Megatron snorted. “Don’t confuse him, Orion.”

“But- he escaped this place.” Orion glanced behind him pensively, as if the darkness they’d just traveled through could provide answers. “Surely, with help, others could as well. That is what we’re going to Iacon _for_ , after all - to ensure the city’s resources are used to serve its people.” He caught Megatron’s skeptical look. “I _have_ to have that hope, Megatron, or what am I working for? I may as well go back to the docks.”

“Wouldn’t have bothered bringing you here if I didn’t think you could help.”

Turned away from the star field as he was, Orion saw Drift melt out of the darkness, optics barely giving off any light at all. Megatron did not, but he didn’t tense. “Just don’t get your hopes up,” Drift continued. “Was lucky. One other mech I know got out.”

“How?”

Drift looked away. “Shot by Enforcers. Died. ...was pretty quick.”

Orion’s optics widened, sick to his tanks at the flat tone and the pain in Drift’s muted, stubborn field. He shifted, free hand outstretched to touch Drift’s shoulder, offer comfort, _anything,_ and promptly kicked himself when Drift tensed, ready to fight off the flicker of movement he’d caught in his peripheral vision.

“I’m sorry,” he said helplessly, and Drift shrugged.

“Worse things than dying,” he said, and Orion shuttered his optics in pain at the realisation that death could be a relief.

“How did you stand it?” Orion’s voice didn’t sound like his own, broken glass and darkness in the sound, and Drift shifted uneasily on his pedes. He reached out and patted Orion’s much larger hand like the motion was entirely alien to him, like he’d only seen it practised but not done it very much himself, and Orion wanted to cry.

“Boosters, mostly. Syk sometimes. How most down here get by, ‘less they’re siphonists or chop shops.” Drift glanced around, briefly meeting Megatron’s optics before his gaze skittered away to find the twins. “C’mon, this way.”

Orion stared after him, then trudged along behind as Drift led them back into darkness.

*

Drift’s promised shelter was the tumbledown ruin of some grand building, braced in a part of the metrotitan’s frame that had been touched a little less harshly by time and decay. Any sign of what purpose it had once served had either crumbled into rust or been scavenged, but the stable remains of the upper floor were large enough to house both of the larger-framed mechs with space to spare while still being defensible, and when Orion curled on his side and tilted his helm, he could still see a glimpse of the stars through the single crooked window. Megatron was recharging already, propped upright with his helm tilted back against the wall - the noise he made through his intakes was mind-boggling, and Orion simply endured until Sunstreaker snorted, padded over and nudged the bigger mech until the angle of his helm dropped. The golden mech either didn’t realise Orion was still awake or paid him no mind, heading back to the entrance to stand watch with Drift.

Orion was grateful for it. Alone, he struggled with himself, trying to integrate his past experiences with what he’d learned and experienced today. Life hadn’t been _easy_ on the docks - he’d labored to exhaustion for every credit, fought the overseers for every scrap of concession and endured the disrespect of his ‘betters’. Yet compared to the Dead End he’d been very, very lucky. He’d had the support of his friends, affordable medical care if he was injured. He’d had a safe place to recharge every night.

Every so often the overseers would threaten to send the lot of them to the Dead End. It’d been a bit of a bit of a joke amongst him and his coworkers. Guilt squirmed in his tank now, looking back on those moments. He hadn’t _known._ He hadn’t realized there was anything _to_ know.

Or perhaps - he’d had his optics too fixed on the sky and his processor too filled with dreams to see the reality of what was happening on the ground. It had taken Drift’s blunt courage to drag him back down to metal.

The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. Orion struggled with that, too. Megatron had been angry, and it had nearly killed Orion and his friends. _Had_ killed his cohortmates and coworkers. Yet he’d come to know the reasons behind Megatron’s anger, and to share it to some degree, while Megatron had learned the value of focusing and harnessing the rage that roared against injustice in his spark. It had propelled Megatron to action in Kaon; Orion could do the same thing in Iacon. He could repay Drift’s faith in him with _action,_ and bring new life to this dead place.

Orion lay awake, and dreamed.

*

_You aren’t what I expected,_ the mech said, her optics narrowed and fixed on Orion’s face. Somehow he could see the other mech clearly, despite the utter darkness around them - it was peaceful, almost, despite the fact that they were still in the Dead End, sitting on the floor of the building Drift had found for them to shelter in.

“How so?” he asked politely, and the mech cocked her head in a way that reminded Orion of Drift, wary look and all.

_I’ll admit, I was expecting more...arrogance,_ was the reply. _Most would react rather differently to finding out you’re a Chosen Prime._

Orion nodded. “Perhaps that’s a reason I was chosen,” he said reasonably, and the other mech snorted a laugh.

_Well. Whether it is or it isn’t, just you remember my city._ She stabbed a finger out into the darkness beyond their shelter, out into an endless night where so many sparks struggled to stay alight. Orion could _feel_ them, in a way that made the same perfect sense as dreams do. _Iacon may have crushed this place into the darkness, but the Dead End is starting to creep out into the lower levels of Mighty Iacon. Don’t you forget that, little Orion. Nothing and nowhere is eternal._ Her smile was a crooked thing, dry and cold. _I should know._

Some sound caught Orion’s attention then, and the world around them flickered. “Wait,” he cried, reaching out for the other mech, trying to push back the dark for a moment longer. “I don’t even know your name!” 

The mech’s smile dropped for a moment, startled into unguarded surprise before it returned as something warmer, more real. _...Rodion. My name is, was and always will be Rodion._

The sound came again, the world blurred, and Orion’s optics fuzzed into black. He reset them groggily to Sunstreaker leaning over him, a hand nudging at his shoulder. 

“Come on,” the slighter mech muttered softly. “Your turn to sit watch. Wake up.” 

“I - recharged?” Orion pushed himself up onto one elbow, his optics adjusting to the lack of light a little better this time from a deep restart. He checked his HUD in bewilderment - he really had been offline. “But I was talking to...” 

Sunstreaker cocked his head, clearly tired and needing to recharge himself, but attempting to listen patiently; Orion shook his head and let his gaze fall to the stars outside. “Nothing.” 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Prime is restored to Iacon, amid both joy and upheaval. (Suck it, Senators.)

Iacon was sunk into the solid weight of Cybertron, the bulk of its rise glowing warm and golden under the light of distant stars. The Hall of Records was a distant curve in the mass of Science Academy buildings; standing apart on the low plain beside the sharp cliffside drop of Iacon’s docks, the Towers stood set firmly into the very struts of the planet themselves and forming their own haughty enclave. The regimented architecture spoke of a history, a grandeur as old as Primus itself.

It was great and grand and uniform, and had about as much life to it when viewed from a distance as a hard-light copy. The outer edge of the docks, the highways and vanishingly few open parts of the lower levels aside, Iaconians lived their lives under the surface of Cybertron. The maintained roads and highways followed the curve of the planet, out under the stars where the well-oiled and well-to-do wouldn’t have to watch anything so commonplace as traffic; the open drop of Iacon separated the Towers from the city proper and formed pleasing vistas where the highways curved out over nothingness. The Prime’s Compound sat at the edge of one such drop, set so that the Prime could survey their people; but there had been no Prime in Iacon for ages past, and the Senate only looked out, not down. Below Iacon itself, far below the gleaming towers and Senate halls, below the academies and fine residences and public buildings, at the roots of the blocky supports holding Iacon fast to Primus, was the rising creep of a city long since buried and forgotten. The Senate didn’t want to see poverty and despair creeping up from the lowest levels, so they made sure they couldn’t, and out of sight meant out of mind.

Well. _Iacon_ had forgotten Rodion, buried it in the threat of the Dead End, but that wouldn’t matter for long.

Orion walked into Iacon along the central highway, Megatron beside him and Drift one step behind, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker roaming ahead. Behind them stretched a shifting, moving crowd, those who had come from the surrounding city-states to wait for their Prime’s arrival or been swept along by the slow, steady, _growing_ movement, and unsuspecting Iaconians stared as the strange, bulky miner-frames and the smaller, wiry excavators and the shielded demolitionists all passed them by.

“Is it a parade?” one youngling asked, tugging at their mentor’s arm; the older mech had no answer for them, but word spread through the city like a breaking wave. _Something was coming._

As the procession wound its way up to the Senate complex, Megatron glanced at Orion, trying to gauge his mood. “I hope you’re prepared for the fallout from what you propose to do,” he said under the roar of the crowd behind them, the thunder of their steps and their voices. “If you are not, you only sow chaos, not change.”

“You’re one to talk,” Orion grunted, his optics fixed on the complex building again.

Megatron grinned, a wicked expression that lit his optics with scarlet fire. “I _am_ a rabble-rouser. You are the Prime. I expect great things from you, my dear Bearer.”

Despite the anger Megatron could still see in Orion’s face, he received a grin back. “Far be it from me to disappoint you.”

“That’s my Orion.” Megatron clapped a hand on Orion’s shoulder. A camera-former quickly transformed, flung theirselves into the hands of their larger partner, and snapped a stillshot of the moment. Sunstreaker abruptly turned and stalked over to them, optics snapping - the mech flinched but their grip only tightened on their transformed partner, backing up a step as Sunstreaker advanced with a wary, stubborn look about them.

“You. Want an exclusive?”

“...what?” the mech said, their voice echoing Orion’s.

Sunstreaker ignored him, jerking his helm back to the advancing column of mechs. “You just take stills, or do you record too?”

The cameramech transformed back to their root modes, blinking up at Sunstreaker beside their partner. “We can be flexible,” they said in eerie synchronicity, and Sunstreaker gave them a sharp nod.

“Good. Get over there and film _them._ ” He stabbed a thumb at Orion and Megatron without looking back. “Send it out to every single newsfeed you can get, stream it live if you can handle it.” The smaller mechs glanced at each other only briefly before nodding and trotting over to the mass of frames filling the highway; their larger partner hesitated, then shrugged and followed.

“Sunstreaker? What are you-”

“My job,” Sunstreaker interrupted, moving forward to cover his twin without looking at Orion. “If you get too unpopular in Iacon, you disappear. Some of the people that got ‘disappeared’ ended up working the mines in Kaon - for a while.” He shot a glance back at that, optics fierce and determined. “You? You need to be too visible to disappear. Especially right now.”

“I agree,” Megatron rumbled, nodding when Orion blinked at him in turn. “We need you to be invincible, Orion. In every way we know how to be.”

Orion nodded his assent without a second thought. He trusted his people - he trusted Sunstreaker, more to the point, and for more than simply his fighting skills. “Very well,” he said, lengthening his stride. “Let’s give them something to see.”

For once, he appreciated the changes Alpha Trion and the Matrix had wrought on his body. His long legs ate up the miles, and his body’s boundless energy meant he was still full of fire and purpose when they drew near to their destination. Of them all, only Megatron and the twins kept pace with him all the way there, but rumor, it seemed, traveled even faster than he did. The final approach was lined with people all the way up to the doors of the Senate building, and while Sunstreaker and Sideswipe watched them closely, it seemed they had come not only to bear witness but to offer support. _“Welcome, Primus’s chosen,”_ Optimus heard in snatches over the general roar of the crowd, _“welcome! Fight for us, deliver us. Give ‘em hell!”_

“I intend to,” he murmured, looking into the optics of the mech who’d shouted that last part. But he did not slow.

*

Ratchet hated his job.

Not the whole thing, to be ruthlessly honest, but the part where he had to stand up in front of a bunch of over-oiled, disinterested chrome-afts and beg, harangue, and outright threaten them with what would happen to Iacon without even a tiny percentage increase in healthcare provision for the orn. He was a medic, and a damn good one, but why this had to be part of his job as senior staff...

...well. Probably because if any poor sap had this as their full-time job, Iacon General would burn through senior management like Senator Proteus fritzing his assistants.

“Because, Senator,” he gritted out, hands tightening on the podium’s lectern as though it would help keep himself in place, “unemployment is on the rise, wages have been frozen or dropped since this time last orn, and the orn before that, and the orn before _that._ Mechs _can’t afford_ to pay for more than basic maintenance, and we’re getting a rise in fatal and _preventable_ conditions as a direct result!”

Senator Decimus settled back in his chair with a sigh, steepling his fingers in at least the pretense of listening; Senator Proteus’ expression suggested there was something nasty right under his nose; Senator Sherma beside him was playing some kind of game on his datapad, and Ratchet’s fingers dug into the lectern so that he didn’t lunge at the self-absorbed slagbuckets and do something the hospital would regret later.

“While that is all very regrettable,” Decimus droned, and Ratchet locked every single one of his joints then and there. “There is no provision in the ornly budget review for additional charity cases. The mechs with these conditions should have taken better care of their frames in the first place, and it is not our responsibility to pick up after their carelessness. I’m afraid that we are currently unable to increase the budget allotment to Iacon General - indeed, with the drop in output from Kaon’s mines, we may even need to cut the budget further.”

_“Cut_ the-” Ratchet’s engine choked, twitching as a jolt of the turbo booster he’d added to his fuel to cope with the rise in desperate, dying patients hit his system in response. _Slaggit, now is not the time to prep for do-or-die charges, even if I could!_

“Senator,” Ratchet gritted out through his clenched jaw. “Mechs are dying. People are _dying._ From entirely preventable conditions that never should have deteriorated so far!”

“I second Senator Decimus,” Sherma muttered absently, tapping at the screen of his datapad. “Preventative maintenance should have been a priority, not wasting credits on who knows what else.”

Ratchet’s vision turned sizzling blue. For a moment all he could see were the wasted frames of patients who had spent their last scrap of energon dragging themselves to the tiny slum clinic he’d funded, the even more brittle and wasting mechs who hadn’t made it that far, those who had long since learned that no-one heard and no-one cared and the only escape was enough Syk or boosters to make it all stop, that one bright spark who’d tried getting out the only way he knew how and who Ratchet had never seen again...

The Senate faded back into view as the roaring in his audials retreated to a distant ringing, and Ratchet had to force his hands to unlock from the dents he’d made in the podium. “...find this motion dismissed,” Senator Proteus was saying, and there was a hum of agreement and bored relief from the Senators in their bench seats over Ratchet’s head. He felt numb, burned out and hollow with rage that hovered around him like a heat haze, and he wondered distantly why the Senators weren’t pointing or backing off or _melting where they stood_ like that one poor mech when the cybercrosis had finally proved too much.

...the ringing in his audials was getting louder.

“Now, the next and final item on our agenda,” Proteus said, and someone to the side of the round chamber let out a huff of impatient vents. Ratchet wished them a vicious rust infection somewhere cramped and embarrassing. “Enquiries into the location of the next Prime.”

“Inconclusive,” a nasal drone came from the back row of the chamber. “As in previous cycles.”

“I see. No further progress has been made?”

“...sir? Excuse me - sir?”

A slighter mech in the paints and drapery of the Senate functionaries was plucking at Ratchet’s elbow, and it had taken Ratchet at least a click to realise. “What?” he snapped, and the mech managed not to recoil through long vorns of experience.

“The Senate hearings are over now. You need to leave the council chamber.”

Ratchet stood for a long moment, rage and frustration venting from every seam and joint, and caught a snatch of nonsense about the Senate trying their hardest to find a new Prime, of _course_ they were.

Of course they were.

“Of course,” he muttered, and made to storm down from the podium with a sliver of dignity - if he couldn’t punch the whole sorry Senate right in the face, he’d at least not trip over the stupid itchy petitioner’s robe they’d sewn him into. “Stupid-” he hissed under his breath as he took the first step down. Next step - “selfish-” Next step - “spoiled-”

He must have let that last hiss get a bit too loud. “Does the representative from Iacon General have something further to add?” Senator Decimus asked the air over Ratchet’s head. “Something new, perhaps?”

That. Was. _It._ Every spark Ratchet had ever watched die in pain because of these _pampered idiots_ crashed through his circuits in a rush of rage and he turned, all thoughts of keeping his job utterly gone. He looked straight into Senator Decimus’s optics - a serious breach of protocol before he’d even said one word - opened his mouth, and-

_WHAM._

Loud as a cannon shot it echoed through the Council chamber, silencing everyone there mid-word. Ratchet spun on his heel and saw the Council doors flung wide open, light streaming in past the form of a massive hauler-frame with his arms outflung and his optics burning blue. The cannon-shot sound must have been from this mech throwing the doors open so hard they hit the walls, and Ratchet knew from long experience how heavy they were. _That mech’s got some serious torque._

The hauler strode forward, and Ratchet got the slag out of his way as he ascended the podium. _“Gentlemechs,”_ he thundered, placing his fists very deliberately on the podium railing. _“I wish to register a complaint.”_

Behind him, the doors swung halfway closed, and the guards who’d been posted on either side slid dazedly to the floor.

Proteus leaned forward in his seat, reticule brightening as he peered over the newcomer with all the disdain he could muster. “And who,” he demanded, “are you?”

“My name is Optimus Prime,” answered the mech, and the bottom dropped out of Ratchet’s tank at roughly the same rate as the senators’ jaws hitting the floor. “I hear you’ve been looking for me.”

“What - _what -_ ” Proteus sputtered, seemed unable to finish a sentence, and the Senate itself seemed caught on the great invent before the storm.

More mechs strode in behind the mech claiming to be Prime before the Senate could find words; an immense miner with modifications Ratchet had never seen outside of the Guard, two colourful, deadly-sleek warriors moving in time with each others’ pedefalls, and a lean grey shadow taking up position beside the crumpled doors - no, beside the one guard still vaguely conscious. The guard shook his head determinedly and struggled to push himself up to his hands and knees; the small grey mech knelt on the guard’s back, too quickly for the heavier mech to react after being concussed by a door. Ratchet couldn’t see what happened to make the guard still so suddenly, then he spotted the muted glint of a vibroknife in the gap between red helm and red cuirass.

“Listen,” said a low, gravelly voice. “Listen to him.”

Ratchet’s gaze lingered for a moment, a signal flare going up at the back of his processor at that voice, but the mech on the podium spoke again and Ratchet forgot all else.

“I’m told,” the Prime said, the rumble of his engine a warning that underscored his words. “That now is the cycle for petitioners to seek audience with the Senate, to put forward their cases in the hope of one last attempt at justice. Have I been misinformed?”

Senator Decimus rallied, drawing himself up with a wild-opticed look about him, re-settling his heavy robes of office as one hand went groping for the panic button under the Senator’s bench. “The hearings are over,” he said, sounding reedy and thin compared to the strength of the hauler’s voice. “You come bursting into this chamber in contempt of this Senate-”

“ _I have nothing BUT contempt for this Senate!_ ”

The walls shook, the floor shuddering under them; only belatedly did Ratchet realise it was his own frame vibrating in sync with the mech’s roar. For the first time since entering the Senate halls, Ratchet’s back unconsciously straightened and his pedes found solid ground.

“Do you know what I have seen, Senators?” Optimus - Optimus _Prime_ growled, standing somehow even taller on the podium as the miner behind him folded his arms and _smiled._ “I have seen mechs starving, mechs dying from being cut off from the right to their own fuel, their own dignity, the right to _live._ I have seen the direct result of pedantry and small-mindedness, the result of wringing every drop of productivity from the people you were sworn to protect and serve-”

Senator Sherma lost his nerve and scrabbled blindly for the button under his desk. “Guards-!”

“-the result of valuing _luxury_ over what is just, valuing credits and the easy way, and I have come to tell you _it. Ends. Here._ ”

Senator Decimus was standing to address the others, the Senate shifting and murmuring in the beginnings of panic as no guards burst in to save them. “Does anyone truly believe this mannerless upstart is the Prime?” _Yes, I slagging well do!_ cried the part of Ratchet that wasn’t still absorbed in gaping. “A Prime is a champion of the rule of law-” The miner _growled,_ the sound racing through the room. “-not a rabble-rouser who tracks the grime of the lower classes into the hallowed halls of the Senate.” More engines growled, the Prime’s among them.

“You ask me to prove my claim?” he asked, his tone suddenly light, with an edge underneath. “I can do that.”

Proteus turned to him, optics glinting. “Then in the name of the Primes of old, I charge you to do so. And when you fail, to submit to arrest.”

“You have no right to call upon the Primal lineage.” Optimus’s hands went to the chest. “Nevertheless, I will give you what you ask for.”

The thick chestplates cracked open, and blue radiance filled the room, making the senators flinch. Ratchet, standing behind the Prime so he wasn’t quite so blinded, felt his knees go weak at the sight. He had never been a religious sort of mech, but when the very walls sang in recognition under that powerful light, even he had to admit - this hauler was the real deal.

A true Prime, after so many stellar cycles.

Dim shapes moved against the brilliant light; Ratchet blinked, optics recalibrating to see past the glare. The same mech who’d tried to draw him out of the Senate chambers inched around the jutting edge of the high, tiered seats, his optics wide and trembling from head to pede. Past him more minor functionaries crept out of hidden doors and service hatches, then message runners, serving mechs, the cleaners who were never allowed into the chambers when the Senate was in session. The ignored, the forgotten, the hidden-from-sight - they peered around the dented chamber entrance and through vent grills, the Senate entirely forgotten.

_A Prime. A Prime -_ our _Prime._

“Optimus,” someone whispered, and it ran like a ripple of sound through the room - a pebble dropped into a stagnant crystal fountain, a breeze beginning to stir through a shuttered hall. “Optimus.”

Guards were trying to push their way into the chambers now, shoving past the more lightly-armoured civilians blocking their path - the first to beat their way into the room paused, cutting off the squads behind. Optimus - the Prime - turned on the podium, utterly fearless even with his own spark bared alongside the Matrix, and the light from his chest brought the most thoughtlessly violent of the responders to their knees.

“Prime,” the door guard whispered, the smaller mech pinning him stepping back and making the vibroblade disappear as though it had never been. The guard barely noticed in turn - he pushed himself up only so far as his knees, optics wide and all for the Prime.

“Optimus!” one of the brightly-painted Kaonites cheered, his voice breaking the spell of the Matrixlight. “Optimus! Optimus!”

“Optimus!” the miner roared. “Optimus!” His gaze swept across the room as more of the silent crowd slowly started to straighten in the light, their tired optics starting to sparkle and wondering joy beginning to bubble up as if from under a crushing weight. 

“Optimus! _Optimus!”_

Without thinking, without anything else needing to be said, Ratchet cried out with them - “Optimus! Prime - Optimus!”

The full-throated roar swept the room, drowning out anything the Senators might have said - the small cameramechs’ partner climbed up onto the tiered seating beside one of the minor Senators, startling the heavier mech and almost daring him to remove them as they filmed. Optimus closed his chestplates and still the blue luminescence lingered about him, brilliant and joyful, and the crowd cried out his name.

“Optimus! Optimus! _Optimus!_ ”

*

“Optimus Prime.”

The big mech turned. The aggression and fury he’d shown before was gone from his frame now, making him seem almost like an ordinary mechanism - massive, but ordinary. Ratchet tried not to let himself be fooled.

“You were there in the Council chamber,” the Prime remembered. “What were you asking for?”

A glimmer of the familiar rage-frustration simmered in Ratchet’s throat. “Additional funding for Iacon General Hospital.”

“How would the funding be allocated?”

Ratchet took a deep vent, firming his resolve. _Now is the worst time to get all gooey over the mech,_ he told himself. _He’ll increase our funding, or I’ll turn him upside down and shake it out of him!_

“Have you been to the Dead End?” Ratchet asked, channelling the fire that had earned him this post in the first place. “I bet you haven’t. Mechs don’t usually go down there willingly. The ones that live there are barely surviving - until they get a rust infection, or the wrong kind of dent, or they miss one too many maintenance appointments and suddenly they’re _not_ anymore.” He flung up his hands - the Prime’s twin guards twitched. The Prime himself didn’t. “The useless exhaust ports in there seem to think it’s a matter of choice, but Prime, trust me, no one chooses to live that way, and if you turn a blind optic to them like Senator Proteus did, then Chosen or no Chosen, you aren’t worthy of that shiny rock in your chest.”

The Prime paused, the pair of Kaonites tensed, and for a moment Ratchet thought _I pushed it too far, and I didn’t even answer the damn question._ Then Optimus subtly gestured his guards to stand down.

“You are wrong. I have been to the Dead End,” the big mech told him. “I have seen the suffering and desperation there, and I assure you, they are my first priority. I will get you your funding, Councilor. I will shake the Senators upside down until it falls out of their subspace pockets if necessary.”

Ratchet surprised himself by barking a laugh. “Yeah. Okay. I could like you,” he told the big mech, and was both startled and stunned all over again at the _smile_ he received in return. Primus below, all this was nearly enough to make a believer out of him.

The miner from before was smirking at him, and Ratchet snapped his gaping mouth shut with a click. 

“I’m glad of that,” Optimus replied, and Ratchet squinted in sudden suspicion as a decided glint of mischief caught blue crystal. “Tell me, Councilor, are you a particularly religious mech?”

“Who, me?” Ratchet blinked, then planted his fists on his hips. “I might not be a temple follower, but if Primus thinks he’s getting a patient past me then he’s got another think coming. Other than that...”

The Prime _laughed,_ open and genuine, and Ratchet went just a little weak at the knees. This was clearly going to be one of those cycles that dragged him around until he got whiplash, but _slag_ if it wasn’t fun.

“In that case, I would very much like it if you came with us, if you can be spared from your post for a little longer.” Optimus smiled at him, that wicked glint lingering in his optics, and Ratchet felt an equally devilish grin of his own growing entirely without his permission. What a cycle this was turning out to be!

“Sure,” he shrugged, striding up beside the Prime as though they were coming off shift in the wards together. “I’ve got nowhere to be right now. I’m covered for the rest of the duty shift; nothing gets done fast up here aside from refusals. Where are we heading?”

Optimus started walking as Ratchet came alongside him, long legs settling into a ground-eating stride up to the barrier at the edge of the road. He pointed, and Ratchet’s vents stalled. 

The Prime was pointing straight to the Iaconian Temple.

“Oh-kaay.” Ratchet drew the word out, staring at the grand, severe building that was the center of so much disdain toward his patients. “I mean, I guess you gotta go there eventually. But why now? There’s plenty to do here.” He jerked his thumb behind him. “You kicked the hell out of this stinger-drone nest, and if you don’t bring it back under control somebody else will.”

The miner snorted. “Leave tactics to those more suited for warfare, medic. Our Prime must journey to the Temple, and the more optics on him when he does it the better.” He flashed a sharp grin. “And he has the optics of the whole city on him now.”

“Warfare’s one thing,” Ratchet shot back. “Politics is another, and it’ll eat him _and_ you alive if you don’t stay on top of it. I’ve been at this job long enough to know.”

“Is that why you consistently fail to secure funding for your hospital?”

“Why you-!”

“Mechs, please.” Optimus Prime stepped fearlessly between them, hands out and up. “We’re all on the same side. Megatron, Ratchet’s best efforts could never have secured funding the Senate never intended to consider granting to begin with. You know that.” Megatron huffed and glanced away. “Ratchet,” the Prime continued, turning to him, “our feeling is that the Senate will reach out to their allies in the Temple for support. I wish to present myself to the Temple before they complete negotiations and thereby disrupt any alliances. Do you have any particular knowledge that should make us reconsider?”

Ratchet hesitated, but only long enough to swallow his pride. “No.”

“Then as I said, I would welcome you if you would like to come with us.” Optimus nodded. “I would welcome your perspective, and the chance to hear more about your work.”

“All right, all right, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” ...still. Ratchet couldn’t help the giddy fizz in his tanks, and the miner - Megatron’s - comments couldn’t keep his grin from breaking free for long. Optimus’s optics warmed and they began to move again, the crowd waiting impatiently below the Senate halls breaking into a roar as their Prime returned.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orion encounters the Deep Temple and makes some more friends... and reunites with some old ones. The first ripples of a Prime's presence spread throughout Cybertron.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been a while! Life's been kicking our ass extra-hard. (Comments make us write faster, hint hint.)

The Iacon temple complex was known as the Deep Temple. Set into the core of the city, all the nearby buildings were a respectful distance away from the top of the basilica dome that protruded out on the surface; the entrance to the temple was grand, wide and high enough for a trine of shuttles walking side by side to enter comfortably, and it led downwards at a steep angle. The further down you went, the priests reasoned, the closer you were to Primus, and their architecture followed their beliefs - the basilica barely broke the surface of Cybertron, but the mechs who had seen inside the Temple swore that the high arch was so far overhead when you were inside that it looked like another world.

Orion had his optics downcast as he approached it, murmuring what prayers he remembered from his earliest lessons as a newspark. _//Lift your helm,//_ Megatron advised. _//The whole city is watching.//_

Orion tried to do as he asked, but within sight of the entrance he was optics-downcast again, nerves and the weight of millennia of tradition weighing heavily on him. What if, despite his convictions, he was wrong after all? What if he did not have the blessing he’d been assured he had? What if this was all a terrible mistake?

What if these small, simple prayers weren’t enough?

Shouts from ahead roused him - two panicked priests had emerged and were trying to swing the heavy doors shut, a third mech trying futilely to stop them. “Run,” Orion ordered, and suited actions to words, charging the last bit of distance to the Deep Temple before he and his people could be shut out. Behind him, he heard the crowd along the Temple route go berserk screaming his name and that of Primus the Creator. The small cameramechs swept up in their wake pelted along after them, outpacing their partner and still scrambling to keep up.

“ _Open in the name of the Prime!_ ” Megatron roared, a shattering bellow that could - and had - carry from the bottom of a mine to the entrance, could quell a crowd screaming for energon in the Kaon Pits. The priests froze for just long enough; the third mech recovered faster and shoved hard to open one half-closed temple door, flattening himself against it as first the twins and then Orion flew past. Megatron caught the flash of bright optics as he flung himself through the gap, Ratchet and Drift close on his heels, and last of all the three cameramechs narrowly avoided getting their pedes clipped as the doors were thrown shut behind them.

Orion was already halfway down the vast entrance hall, unable to halt his momentum, and Megatron wasn’t about to wait for however many priests the temple held to pour forth and try to stop them again. His headlong charge settled into a run, eating up the ground separating him from Orion, and trusted Drift to keep the medic and the cameramechs close. The storm of their pedefalls echoed and clattered through the immense space; Drift shook his head in a futile attempt to clear his audials and grabbed the first cameramech’s wrist, the other two linking hands with their third to stay together, dragging them along at a pace that would have rapidly overtaken Megatron if the smaller mech hadn’t been so encumbered.

The twins reached the entry to the basilica first and Sideswipe simply ran over the first priest who burst through the doors. “Whup! ‘Scuse me!” he whooped, and Orion wasn’t sure whether to laugh or groan. Mercifully Sunstreaker arched like a dancer and only tripped the second priest, and then Orion was through.

The basilica was not unoccupied - startled mechs making their way through the temple milled around the central space, and priests in their long robes were hurrying to the doors, either to bar them or throw them open or demand explanations. The twins formed up in front of Orion as he slid to a halt, Sunstreaker’s face grim and Sideswipe with an inviting grin that promised mayhem to anyone who got in their way.

It was not, perhaps, the most dignified of entrances, but it certainly did make an impression. More importantly, thanks to the cameramechs who’d followed (or been dragged) along with them, the _whole city_ had seen the priests try and fail to bar the doors against the new Prime.

Whispers filled the basilica, but priests and visitors alike drew back from what must have looked to them like an invasion force. Now there was nothing standing between Orion and his goal: the resonance crystal.

Which was… starting to sing.

“Oh,” Orion murmured as the world fell away, leaving him suspended in blue. He approached, slow and dreamlike, as the joyful chimes of the crystal resolved themselves into - not _speech,_ exactly, but something he could understand.

_Dearest,_ it said.

“Primus,” Orion whispered, and made to kneel.

_Dear one, don’t,_ rang the chimes. _You are not a servant or a slave. You are my Bearer._

Orion hesitated awkwardly. “I’m… only a dockworker,” he pleaded. “Ignorant in so many ways. I am not worthy.”

The chimes pulsed. _Never think yourself unworthy. You have worked to educate yourself. You have never shunned a single task set before you, no matter how difficult or painful. I couldn’t be prouder of you._ Orion pressed a hand to his optics, overcome by the praise, and he felt warmth in the chimes like a comforting embrace. _You won’t be alone, Orion. You already have so many people you can trust to help you, and you will find more. And, in time, I will send another to you - another Chosen. Until then, continue to be brave._

“I will,” Orion promised, shaky-voiced. “I love you.”

_I love you too, my Bearer - my Orion._

The shimmering blue light faded slowly, reluctant and leaving the sound of chimes lingering in Orion’s audials, and when his optics finally reset his face was wet with tears. Megatron was beside him, close enough to touch, and he startled at the expression on the larger mech’s face - a confusing tangle of ferocious protectiveness and an uneasy sort of worry.

“I’m all right,” Orion croaked, and had to reset his vocaliser as well. Megatron snorted his opinion of _that,_ but then Orion looked _past_ him and almost reset his optics all over again.

The temple was utterly silent but for the faint ghosts of the chimes and the hushed working of vents; every single priest and penitent in the basilica was kneeling, optics and visors and reticules fixed on Orion in stunned awe.

“What _happened?_ ” Megatron hissed, his broad hand closing around Orion’s upper arm as though that alone could protect him. “You stopped responding! The priests tried to rush us, and that light cut you off like it was a forcefield!”

Orion shook his head, slow and still more than a little dazed, then met Megatron’s optics again. “Primus spoke to me,” he said softly, and felt Megatron recoil though he didn’t let go. “On that, at least, I don’t doubt anymore.”

He could see the conflict chasing itself through Megatron’s optics. Primus had been a curse-word in the mines of Kaon, a figure who watched over overseers and owners, not those who slaved away on their orders. If it had been Megatron in the space-between, speaking to Primus, Orion had no doubt he would have burned the god’s audials with what he had to say.

But he wasn’t facing Primus now. He was facing _Orion,_ the mech who’d turned his thinking around in a lot of ways, who’d shown him the parts of Iacon worth saving. Megatron nodded once, tightly, and turned.

“See your Prime,” he said, his voice echoing off the walls of the basilica over the heads of the kneeling assembly. His pronouncement seemed unnecessary to Orion, but he admitted it needed to be said for the record’s sake, if nothing else. And it drew Orion’s attention outward again to the people around them. He hesitated at the sight of them, then shook his head and made a beeline for the nearest priest.

“Get up,” he said. “All of you. ...Please. Primus wouldn’t let me kneel to him, so you needn’t kneel to me.” A few rose to their pedes uncertainly, but the priest Orion had singled out just looked at him like his processor had stalled until Orion took him by the arms and physically lifted him up.

“Lord Prime,” the priest blurted, and then Orion noticed it - the shallow dent on his leg. This was one of the priests who’d tried to bar him entry, whom Sunstreaker had tripped.

“None of that either,” Orion told him. “We’re all going to be very busy soon, and we won’t get anything done if we cling to convention.”

“Lord Prime - the Senate - I -”

“Leave them to me.” Orion turned again, and found himself looking into the optics of the priest who’d tried to stop his fellows from closing the door. “Ah, it’s you. What’s your name?”

The priest faltered only a moment before gathering his courage. “Skids, my l- ...Prime.”

Quick study, this one. Orion’s optics creased in approval. “Skids, can I mine your processor a bit? I need as much information as you can give me about this temple’s personnel and responsibilities.”

Skids looked like Orion had given him both moons. “Yes, Prime!”

*

On every vidscreen in Iacon, openly or furtively or while shouting at the tops of their voices and yelling, mechs were watching Orion. The cameramech they had swept up in their wake - Reflector, Orion had asked and found out their name when their march’s momentum had slowed - had negotiated lightning-fast with a few contacts to stream Orion’s march through Iacon as it happened. There was no way for the Senate to deny him now - the broadcast was already being cut into easily-narrated segments and blasted out to all corners of the city-state. _Everyone_ had seen it, those without data pads or access to a private comm terminal piling into the streets and into each others’ homes and into bars up and down the levels.

The footage hadn’t stopped repeating. The comms network was groaning under the strain. Mechs were filling the streets around the Deep Temple and around the Senate compound, unsure which the Prime was currently occupying but resisting all attempts by the Senate’s guards or the Enforcers to disperse them.

Down on the docks of Iacon, work _stopped._ Ariel and Dion watched just enough of the footage to be sure, sparks pulsing wildly, then threw caution to the canal and transformed to force their way into Iacon central.

They roared past The Hangar, where Team Triple-Triple were slaying the competition at the regulars’ pub quiz. “Give us a hard one!” Astrotrain roared across the bar, counterpoint to Team Wheely Good Time’s derisive groans.

“That’s what your botfriend said to me last night,” Octane smirked. Astrotrain thumped him in the shoulder. Blitzwing revved at them both for silence as the announcer cued up the next question. The screen behind him brightened, displaying dramatic swirly colors as the teams readied their styluses.

“Founded by the Iacon Academy Historical Site Registrar, this museum complex houses some of the planet’s most valuable historical art and artifacts, including-” The announcer frowned as the light changed behind him, the screen blanking out for a moment before flashing to a grainy video stream of a massive crowd outside the Senate building. “One moment, gentlemechs, looks like we’re getting a special bulletin.”

“Glitchslag!” Astrotrain burst out.

“Yeah, turn that boring scrap off,” Blitzwing chimed in. The announcer shrugged apologetically as a calm voice spoke over the video.

_“Pandemonium in the streets in central Iacon today at the news that a dockworker has claimed the title of Prime. This claim is as yet unconfirmed, but opticwitnesses report seeing a strong blue light emerging from the subject’s chest that may be the Matrix, the artifact stolen by ex-Senator Alpha Trion. Also in the alleged Prime’s company is a mechanism identified as Megatron, the notorious terrorist known as the Terror of Kaon…”_

“Wow,” Octane muttered. “A new Prime? Y’think he’s the real deal?”

Astrotrain and Blitzwing snorted in unison. “Who cares?” Astrotrain philosophized. “If he’s legit, taxes go up. If he’s a fake, taxes go up. We know how this slag works.”

“Yeah,” Blitzwing agreed. “Now can we get back to thrashing these pretenders? I want my free drinks, slaggit.”

*

Merchants were already circulating through the crowds by the time Ariel and Dion left the docks. “Energon!” one called. “Energon chips! Getcher ration here!”

“-coolant cubes, flavoured coolant cubes-”

“-you look like a mech who wants to get ahead of the crowd! I can cut you a great deal right now on one-of-a-kind memorabilia, make sure you never forget standing right here in a million years with Swindle’s patent-pending-”

Pushing through the crush of frames, Ariel cast about in vain for a way to see over the crowd. “It’s no good!” she called over her shoulder. “I can’t see a thing, he’ll never spot us even if he’s here!”

Dion wriggled past a group of battered-looking minibots clutching each others’ hands, blasting hot air through his vents in frustration. “So what do we do? It’s not like we can comm him from here, the network’s running like slag right now.”

*

The commotion around Perceptor didn’t rouse him one iota; only when someone bumped into him did he stir. “May I inquire-” he started irritably.

“Mech, look at the monitors!” the tech who’d bumped him blurted.

“Pardon?” But Perceptor’s scope turned to focus on the monitors, as bidden; his lens housings whirred as he read the scrolling strip underneath the video. “Well, I’ll be,” he marveled. “The Matrix has been found!”

“Allegedly,” his lab partner put in. “Celebration would be premature until we receive confirmation from the Iacon Academy.”

“Oh, I know, Shockwave.” Perceptor transformed slowly - too long spent in one position had cramped his linkages. “Still, I wish I could sit in on the examination, don’t you? There’s still so much we don’t understand about the Matrix, and scanner technology has improved considerably since Zeta’s day. I wonder if this new Prime could be convinced to submit himself to a full scan.”

Shockwave’s helm tilted. “I share your enthusiasm, my friend, but bioengineering is hardly your field.”

“No,” Perceptor admitted, “but I have a hypothesis that unlocking the secrets of the Matrix would be a full field of study all on its own.”

*

Ariel scanned the sky overhead; news drones bobbed and swayed back and forth in the thermals the crowd was generating, but none of them seemed to be focussing in any one direction. “Just as clueless as the rest of us,” she muttered, then startled as a deep voice broke through the noise.

“Ariel! Dion! Slagnabbit!”

“Bolts!” Dion blurted, surprise and a little guilt in face and voice. “When did you-?”

“Right the frag after you went tearing outta there!” The older dockworker pushed past mechs half his height with absent-minded care, stomping over to them with single-minded purpose. Behind him, to their amazed dismay, came the entire crew of storage yard 67. “Well, where is he?”

“Uh-”

“Orion! Where’s Orion?” Bolts’ glower could set scrap alight, and rumour on the docks was that it really had, and don’t ask where the scorchmarks on the third storage shed from the right came from. “Slaggit, that half-sized moonscrap goes running off to who knows where and doesn’t even stop in at the dock when he gets back-”

“We can’t see,” Ariel blurted, darting glances around at her coworkers - her friends. “I don’t know if he’s here, but even if he is there’s no way he’ll see us.”

Bolts huffed, exasperated, and planted his hands on his hips. “One good way to fix that last thing. Fancy!”

A long, lean mech with a crane hook dangling in some disarray over one shoulder edged forward, plastering himself to Bolts’ side as he peered over the wider mech’s shoulder. “Yeah, boss? You see him yet?”

“We’re workin’ on it,” Bolts growled. “All right, youngin, up you come...”

 

*

“And a one, and a two-”

Ricochet quietly turned down the gain on his audial receptors as Jazz and his band launched themselves headlong into one of their ‘experimental sets’. It wasn’t _bad_ exactly, and being a sometime musician himself Ric could certainly appreciate their technical skill, but slaggit, he was trying to watch the news.

“Hold up, hold up - how’d we get out of tune?”

...perhaps ‘technical skill’ was stretching it a bit. “Mechs, can you take a break?” Ric called over his shoulder. “I wanna catch this.”

Bowbreaker, their percussionist and the biggest aquatic Ricochet had ever met, wandered over while the others were still arguing over their instruments. “What’s up?” she asked. “What’s so interesting all the way out in Iacon?”

“I think I know those guys.” Ricochet tilted the screen to let her see. “See that hauler in the red?”

“Yeah?”

The drone camera zoomed in as the subject of the broadcast emerged from the Deep Temple. “Yeah, that’s him - he and his cohort stayed here for a while during the Grand Parade.” Ricochet grinned, propping his chin in his hand, his visor fond. “Huh. Small world.”

*

Holding on firmly to Fancy’s helm, Ariel stretched up as high as she could go and scanned for an almost-familiar outline. The tall craneformer was more than capable of seeing over the helms of all but the rare shuttleformers or sparked transport haulers, and frankly, Ariel thought, if _she_ were a shuttleformer, she would much rather watch from a comfortable rooftop, or anywhere else that was out of the crush of frames. 

She was just about to ask Fancy if she could try her hand at rebraiding his crane cable while they waited, then a ripple in the crowd caught her optic. She tensed, and Fancy tilted his helm slightly ready to ask what was happening, when-

“There!” Ariel cried, darting up ramrod-straight on Fancy’s shoulders, half-climbing up his helm. “Orion! _Orion!_ ”

“It’s the Prime!”

“Orion!”

“Orion!”

“This isn’t going to work!” Dion yelled over the sudden upswell of sound from the mechs around them, his words swept away as Orion finally emerged from the Deep Temple in amongst a crowd of his own. “He’ll never hear us!”

“Then we _make_ him hear us!” Ariel roared back to him. Planting her hands flat on Fancy’s helm, scrambling to stand on his shoulders and to the Pit with falling, she set her vocaliser as loud as it would go. “STORAGE YARD 67!”

“I get it,” Fancy blurted, broad hands grasping her ankles to anchor her. “I get it! STORAGE YARD 67! STORAGE YARD 67!”

Dion joined in after a moment’s slack-jawed gaping, Bolts and Plumbline and Roust and everyone who remembered a kind-sparked, energetic youngling from the docks all chanting together as though they were drawing in a transport on the canal.

The crowd’s reaction was mixed, some drawing back from them as though afraid their boisterousness would draw Enforcer attention and a few joining in on the chant as if it meant anything to them, but Ariel saw only Orion as, across Iacon’s widest street and a maddening crush of people, he spotted them.

Her spark leapt. “STORAGE YARD 67! STORAGE YARD 67 - Orion, come on!”

For a moment she was afraid he would pass them by, that she would watch him walk away into his new life as the exalted Prime and be left only with _I knew him back when-_ But she should have known better, and her face broke into a brilliant grin as Orion started wading - politely, but with determination - through the crowd towards them. The mechs with him darted ahead to try to clear a path for him, but it was slow going even so. The dockmechs kept chanting, and as Orion neared, Ariel could hear him chanting with them.

As soon as he was in reach, the knot of dockworkers surged forward to wrap around him, crying, laughing, screaming-roaring-sobbing his name as they pounded his plating in a fury of delight. Ariel slid down Fancy’s chassis and into Orion’s arms, and he held her close - if he spoke, his voice was lost in the noise, but Ariel could feel the warm rumble of his systems. Primus, he was so _huge,_ reforged into something almost warmech-like, but the gentleness in his hands was just as she remembered. Someone - from what she could see of their colours in the tumult, she thought it might have been Bolts - scooped Dion out of the tangle and hefted, half threw him into Orion’s arms beside her; he and Orion clung to each other, latching on any way they could reach, Orion buried in the arms of his friends with tears streaming down his face.

“Lookit you,” Bolts roared in aggrieved joy, thumping Orion’s shoulder. “A Prime! Our youngling!”

“Always your youngling,” Orion choked out, and somehow managed to catch Bolts in his arms along with Ariel and Dion. Fancy teared up and wrapped all four up in a hug in turn, and everything descended right back into a dockpile.

“...not three cycles into Iacon, and we’re back to the hugging.”

Ariel blinked, optics booting up at the unfamiliar voice so close, and shifted until she could see a grinning red mech - apparently standing guard over them?

“Sideswipe,” he said, twitching a thumb at his chestplate. “And I guess you’re Ariel, from all the fuss.”

*

Ultra Magnus stood with his pedes planted, solid and steady as the metal below as he gazed out over Iacon. The multicoloured throng below was moving, slowly but steadily, spilling out of the wider thoroughfares between Iacon Central, the Deep Temple and the Senate compound; it wasn’t a riot, not yet, but the Senate were concerned. As they should be, to have a strange mech and his entourage break into the deliberations without challenge, alleged Prime or no - it hardly showed the guards of the Senate compound in a good light.

The Prime’s compound, now, if his intelligence proved to be correct.

“Well, well, well. A true Prime.” His sergeant leaned against the barrier, any kind of proper military bearing ignored in favour of craning for a good view. “Never thought I’d see the day again. This is the turning point, lad, count on it.”

Magnus frowned. “If you know anything, Kup...”

The older mech laughed, propping his arm on the ledge fearlessly alongside his commander. Adopted commander, in all fairness, but Magnus wasn’t going to bring that up on duty even if Kup did, when it suited him. “Nah, that’s not how I meant it. Primes bring change, for better or worse. We just got to hope this one’s for better.”

Looking out over the swarm of mechs below, Ultra Magnus found himself hoping the same, if only to avoid a riot.

*

“...and this is Megatron.”

Orion, drunk on joy, beamed at him; the rest of Storage Yard 67 was not so happy to see him. A small constellation of multicolored opics turned to glare at him narrowly, Ariel in Orion’s arms actually growling her engine. Megatron sighed internally. _I wasn’t expecting this moment to come so soon._

He swallowed his pride, his throat grating as he gave them all a slight - very slight! - inclination of his torso. “I offer my deepest apologies,” he forced out. “For what happened at the docks.”

“Are you slaggin’ me?” Bolts demanded, echoing the angry revs of his cohort.

Megatron grimaced. “I understand that you who labor on the docks are as much victims of the current corrupt system as the miners and gladiators once were in Kaon. I hadn’t meant there to be casualties, but my intelligence was lacking-”

“Boy, wasn’t it,” Fancy muttered.

_Patience. For Orion’s sake._ “...for which,” Megatron growled out, “I take full responsibility.”

“Boss,” Sideswipe murmured, worry and support clear in his voice.

Orion murmured something to his cohort - Megatron caught ‘fought for me’ and decided against eavesdropping further. Finally Ariel huffed and squirmed out of Orion’s arms. “Well,” she said, “you did get Orion here in one piece.”

It wasn’t forgiveness, quite, but Megatron gave her a small, grateful half-smile anyway. 

*

Midway through Winglord Ephemeris and High Lord Eccentricity’s morning repast, one of Director Fly-by-Night’s intelligence agents entered the solarium, bowed, and waited for acknowledgement. Eccentricity ignored eir completely; Ephemeris finished his foamed bismuth before gesturing eir over. While still staying as far away from the Winglord as possible, the agent bent and murmured briefly into his audial.

Ephemeris scowled and waved eir away. As the agent left, Eccentricity lifted an optic ridge. “What was that?”

“Some commotion in Iacon,” his twin answered. “Apparently they think they’ve got a Prime.”

Eccentricity huffed and took another gelled confection. “Primes come and go,” he said dismissively, and popped the treat into his mouth.

Ephemeris smiled, his optics cold. “But we endure.”

*

“So,” Ariel said, addressing Orion but not taking her optics from Megatron. “What do we do now?”

It wasn’t really possible to have a sensible conversation when they were surrounded by what felt an awful lot like a combination of a festival and an adoring mob, but Orion did his best. “We go to the Senate,” he said, pitching it to carry, and the surrounding mechs let out a cheer. “The Deep Temple is open to any who wish to - to seek guidance from Primus, but our business with the Senate is not finished yet.”

Sideswipe glanced at his twin and Sunstreaker nodded, both of them turning in the press of mechs to begin forging their way back towards the upper levels of Iacon. Orion despaired briefly, then almost jumped out of his plating when Ratchet’s sirens lit up with a howling wail.

“Well, come on, we haven’t got all shift,” the older mech said, and Orion gaped as Ratchet strode after the twins with as wide a path as was possible in the crush opening up around him. He glanced at Megatron; Megatron glanced back, then shrugged.

“To the Senate!” Megatron roared, his voice carrying and rumbling through the noise of Ratchet’s sirens, and the crowd roared in reply.

*

The Senators knotted at the balcony like frightened newbuilds, staring at the massing crowd below.

“What _is_ that useless Ultra Magnus waiting for?” Decimus demanded in a meant-to-be-heard mutter. “Does he have a looter quota?”

“The Deep Priest hasn’t returned my hails,” a minor Senator worried. “What’s that Prime done to hir?”

Proteus hissed at him. “He’s not a Prime! I don’t care what lightshow he’s rigged up in his chest.” Decimus gave him a doubtful look across the gathered Senate crowd, mouth pursed, and Proteus rumbled discontent. Below, the crowd rippled and began to part as the above-his-station medic used his sirens to precede the Prime’s path.

“He’s coming back,” whispered one of the junior Senators, thrilling with terror.

“Should we bar the doors?” another asked.

Decimus drew a slow vent, his optics dimming. “Even if we did, we cannot bar him forever. No matter the truth of his identity, the people clearly are convinced he’s a Prime. We will have to deal with him.” He straightened, turned to address them as though they were seated in the deliberation chambers rather than clinging to each other in mutual distrust. “Let us welcome change, honored Senators. Embrace it, and bend it to the service of Iacon.”

Optics darted about, and a few of the Senators started to smirk.

 

*

The walk to the Senate chambers seemed to take far longer than the original march through Iacon had. The gathered mechs seemed calm, at least, but Orion was hyper-aware of the press of fields and frames in what could rapidly become a tight space. The avenues of Upper Iacon were wide, but there were _so many people._

Drift had vanished into the crowd, and Orion wasn’t sure if it was to watch for them or to deal with the crush.

Sunstreaker, Sideswipe and Ratchet parted the crowd before the rest of them, but hands reached for him and he could no more refuse to acknowledge them than fly. Orion reached back, clasping hands and brushing palms, and mechs of all frametypes and sizes and accents clung to him.

“Prime!”

“-Primus bless-”

“I see you,” he told them all, and his optics were kind. “I hear you,” he told them all, and his voice was gentle. “I will do everything I can for you,” he told them all, and his hands were sure.

The crowd swooned, rippling as those receiving the blessing of a touch fell back in a daze to make room for others. In this way they made it - step by slow step - back up to the stairs of the Senate. The senatorial compound had apparently prepared for Orion’s return: standing at the top step was a broad, blocky Iaconian warframe head and shoulders taller than either Megatron or Orion, wearing the badges of the Iaconian Enforcers on his shoulders and backed by a squadron of warframes and city-scout frames displaying the same emblem.

At his shoulder, Megatron tensed, engine growling. Orion reached out to lay a hand on his arm. “I don’t think they’re here to prevent us from entering.”

“If you’re wrong-” Megatron hissed. “There will be civilian casualties if it comes to a fight!”

Orion glanced at him kindly, without speaking, and Megatron snapped his mouth shut. _How my attitude has shifted since the docks!_ Orion stepped forward and the gathered mechs muttered and rumbled, the drones overhead broadcasting the upcoming confrontation to a breathless Iacon as commentators murmured half-heard speculation. Orion took another step forward, standing calmly only two stairs away from the massive mech and his Enforcers, and shook his head when Megatron made to step up beside him. ...the twins needed a firm nudge before they would do the same.

“Hello,” he said, and the crowd swarming the steps blinked almost in unison. “May I come in?”

The warrior stared at him, utterly nonplussed, and a bewildered quiet rocked the Enforcers as Orion gave them an endearing, utterly disarming smile. The quiet was shattered by a rasping cackle, and the Enforcers’ commander jerked as a smaller frame elbowed him in the leg in the process of getting closer to the best view in the house. 

“Ahh, come on, Magnus,” the older mech grinned; both twins and Drift were openly staring at the oldest mech they had ever seen in their _lives._ “Whaddaya say? He _did_ ask nicely.”

“Kup, please,” ‘Magnus’ protested, pained, but his shoulders relaxed perceptibly. “I’m doing the best I can. This situation is unprecedented.”

Kup lifted an optic ridge at him. “This ain’t the first Prime to ride on down to Iacon, you know.”

“Yes, but never so antagonistic to the Senate-”

“Hah!” Kup clapped Magnus’s arm. “Listen to you, youngling! Senates and Primes buttin’ cranial units is a time-honored tradition. Why, I remember the time Zeta Prime led a sing-along sit-in right there in the debate chamber-”

“Are you serious?” Orion blurted.

Magnus looked even more pained, Megatron pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose, and Kup laughed again. “Oh, lad, I’ve got stories that would curl your circuits,” he confided, stepping forward. “Don’t mind my superior officer, he’s welded to regulation but he’s a good spark. Ultra Magnus, Optimus Prime. Show some of those Academy manners, will you?”

“I don’t think that’s appr-” Ultra Magnus began, but Kup was already clasping Orion’s hand, and he sighed. “Greetings, Optimus Prime,” he said grudgingly. “Please excuse my second, he thinks he’s aged out of the ‘military discipline’ requirement.”

“I find him quite refreshing,” Orion answered, then belatedly added, “Of course, it is good to meet you as well. I’ve heard much of your fairness and dedication as commander of Iacon’s Enforcers.”

Megatron was growling like a pit hound at his shoulder, but Orion didn’t dare send so much as a quelling glance his way. He’d just have to hope the twins were ready to sit on Megatron if he really couldn’t rein in his - entirely understandable - rage and grief around the Enforcer commander. _We’ll have to deal with that eventually - Primus, please, one crisis at a time!_

Behind the Enforcer squadron, the heavy doors swung open. Orion’s friends coiled in anticipation; Kup turned, confusion etching the lines in his face deeper, but Magnus only turned his head. “Let them through,” he ordered after a moment, and the squadron parted to allow five warbuilds marked as Senate Guard to approach. The guard in the lead pinged Orion’s memory banks - he was the mechanism that Drift had threatened with a lasknife in the Senate chambers.

“Sir,” the lead mech greeted with a crisp salute. Ultra Magnus returned it. “I volunteer t’escort the new Prime to the Senate halls.”

“That has yet to be determined, Guardsmech Ironhide,” Magnus answered, and the guard’s face set in stubborn determination. “If you wish to join us-”

“Sir,” Ironhide said firmly, and Magnus shut up - out of the sheer surprise of being interrupted, Orion suspected. “You misunderstand. His Primeship’s goin’ into the Senate hall t’ do what he came t’ do, and we aim t’ be his shieldmechs, which is what _we’re_ supposed t’ do when there’s a Prime in residence. Now I’m askin’ you - please give the order, sir.”

“Ah, mech,” Kup murmured, pulling away from Orion a little as Magnus and Ironhide stared each other down.

Magnus’s head lowered slightly. “Are you prepared to face the consequences should this determination of yours put you in conflict with your brothers in the Enforcers, Guardsmech Ironhide?” he asked evenly.

Ironhide’s face cracked a grin, though he was clearly struggling to hide it. “Give the order and that won’t be an issue, sir.”

Kup wasn’t the only Enforcer to muffle a snicker at that, but Orion remained tense until Magnus turned his back to the Prime and his companions. “Enforcers!” he barked. “Form ranks!”

The Enforcers snapped into two ranks like iron filings drawn to two equidistant magnets. Kup gave Orion’s gauntlet a last pat before trotting over to take his place in the ranks, and Magnus stepped aside as his second fell in. “Prime,” he said, waving an inviting hand toward the open Senate doors.

“Frag me,” Sideswipe whispered, and anything Orion might have said in reply was lost in a roaring river of sound - all of Iacon was cheering, it seemed, shatteringly loud and beating against them, pushing them forward, forward, towards the tall doors ahead. Orion glanced to Megatron, to Ratchet, then invented and drew the joy in the air in.

“Guardsmech,” he said gently, and Ironhide snapped into a salute that rang with utter devotion. “...really, I know people are watching, but you don’t have to salute.”

“‘S my duty, Prahm,” the mech said stoically, and Orion remembered the bars of Simfur and the fierce glitter in the loader’s optic band as she listened to a strange Iaconian speak. “And one heck of an honour, ‘scuse my language.”

That made Orion smile, and he felt more than heard Megatron chuckle at his shoulder. “Then since this is all rather new to us, would you do _me_ the honour of leading us in?”

“Yessir, an’ gladly.” Ironhide turned, sharp and crisp, bellowing through the crowd’s noise. “Prime’s Guard, form - _up!_ ” Two of the warbuilds snapped ramrod-straight side-on to the party, and Orion was briefly confused until Ironhide marched forward, taking point as Drift had in the Dead End, and the last two guardsmechs fell into place behind and to either side of him - the first three points of a diamond, with Orion himself making up the fourth. “ _Move out!_ ”

Ironhide led the guardsmechs forward, Orion falling into step behind them with Megatron pacing gravely at his right shoulder, Ratchet on his left; the twins split themselves between the lead group and the dockworkers, Drift bringing up the rear and making sure no-one got left behind - or tried to tag along where they weren’t invited. The two stationary guardsmechs fell in behind, and together they marched back through the tall, heavy gates to the Senate.

*

“Prime’s Guard now, is it?”

Ironhide weathered Senator Decimus’s skeptical look with his chin lifted and his optics calm. “The Guard was always held in trust for the Prime, Senator.”

“So it was.” Decimus’s optics drifted from Ironhide to Orion, still standing at the back point of the guard’s diamond. “Prime. We may have been - hasty, earlier, in our reception of you. Please forgive our rudeness.”

“Rudeness is the easiest thing to forgive,” Orion replied evenly. “I have much to accomplish; I hope you are willing to work with me.”

Decimus inclined his helm. Behind him, the other assembled Senators - a smaller group than had been in the Senate chamber proper - hastily did the same. “It would be my honor.”

“Excellent.” Before anybody could stop him, Orion strode out of the protective circle around him and reached out, offering a docker’s handclasp to the Senator. After a moment’s shock - highborn mechanisms did _not_ touch so casually - Decimus accepted.

“You’ve had a long journey,” the Senator observed while Megatron and the other Senators were busy getting their sputters under control. “You must want to rest.”

“In due time,” Orion answered, letting Decimus have his hand back. “First I need access to a broadcast room. I want to address all of Iacon at once.”

Decimus’ optics flickered, and a suspicious Megatron clearly noticed and didn’t put it down to a simple enquiry to the Senate comms team. “Of course, of course. Naturally those citizens in the streets will need to be reassured that it is safe to return to their homes.”

“And informed of what is happening in their city,” Orion said, just a little coldly, “and have it made clear that they matter. I intend to make that something of a trademark.”

This time the Senator only inclined his helm, and anything he may have said about Orion’s opinions was kept firmly locked away before it could reach his vocaliser. “As you say, Prime,” he said, and it came out as smooth and agreeable as before. Orion nodded, determination back in the set of his shoulders and his field, and his lips parted to say something else when the doors to the Senate antechamber slid open.

A mech draped in a tatty, colourless wrap stood in the doorway, his pose suggestive of a dramatic revealing even before he’d said a word. “ _Guards,_ ” Decimus almost groaned - fairly so, Megatron reflected, given that he himself was both amazed and appalled at the amount of people forcing their way into the Senate today. The Kaonites were already bracing for treachery or yet more drama, but even as the mech in the doorway reached for the folds of his robe, the next voice to be heard was an unexpected one.

“The _slag_ is he doing here?” Bolts growled; the Iaconian dockworkers had clustered close on Orion’s heels, sticking to what was familiar in the echoing, unfriendly halls of the Senate buildings, but just as familiar was the outline of a mech who had haunted the Iaconian docks for long enough that the longer-lasting workers warned the new ones, _just in case._ “Bothering more youngins?”

Somewhat robbed of his dramatic entrance, the mech pulled the tattered wrap away and let it fall. “Greetings, Decimus,” Alpha Trion said, trying to regain a little dignity. “It’s been some time.”

“Trion!” Decimus growled. “After vorn upon vorn of skulking in the shadows, you think you can return to the light - I ought to have you arrested.”

“Do as you wish,” the elder mech responded. “History will validate my actions. Won’t they - Optimus Prime?”

“It’s _Orion Pax.”_

Orion hadn’t moved, but his body language had changed dramatically: shoulders up, head lowered, hands clenched in fists. Megatron had never seen him in so aggressive a stance, and quickly put two and two together. “I take it,” he drawled, “this is the mechanism responsible for your - unasked-for upgrade.”

“He is,” Orion answered tightly.

Decimus exchanged glances with the other Senators. “Well, then,” he announced. “It seems we must add unlawful modification to your crimes of theft and dereliction of duty, Alpha Trion. Have you anything to say before you are taken into custody?”

“Not to you, Decimus.” Alpha Trion ignored him then, directing his calm gaze on Orion alone. “Boy, I’m glad to see you’ve embraced your destiny, but there’s still much you don’t know.”

“I’m well aware of that,” Orion answered. “But I have no shortage of teachers. I will do this without you, thank you all the same.”

Alpha Trion smiled indulgently behind his facial decorations. “Well. When you change your mind, you will know where to find me.”

“Yes. In custody. I wish to press charges,” Orion said more loudly, straightening from his tension to turn, not to the Senators, but the guards. Ironhide’s optics flickered between them, clearly recognising the old mech, but just as clearly protective of his new charge, to Megatron’s decided approval. Alpha Trion made a noise very like a sigh, and if it made Megatron’s hackles rise he could only imagine how it made Orion feel.

“A member of the Senate cannot be arrested,” he said, in a tone that clearly expected Orion to have known the protocol by now. Megatron growled, but somewhat to his surprise it was Proteus who spoke up. 

“A _member of the Senate,_ ” he enunciated, deliberate and clear - whether it was for dramatic effect or he thought everyone not an Iaconian by forging was slower than the rest, Megatron wasn’t sure. “But then, if _a member of the Senate_ does not attend his seat in the chamber for a certain significant period - a period which you have _far_ exceeded, my dear Trion - then he is no longer a Senator.” Proteus smiled, slow and satisfied. “Which makes your claims of immunity - why, it makes them _invalid._ ”

Some of Alpha Trion’s calm was dissipating, and he glared at Proteus from under the heavy prongs of his helm. “And yet, I have done more away from my lofty seat to aid Cybertron than you have debating,” he said, and Megatron smirked in turn at the tension in his voice. “I and I alone have searched for and discovered a new Prime!”

“You found my body on the verge of offlining and rebuilt me to suit!” Orion snapped, whirling on the spot and pointing a stabbing finger like a weapon. “I am Prime, and you are still a reprehensible criminal, no matter what else is true.”

“Had I not, you would be dead now, boy!” Alpha Trion came dangerously close to thundering, drawing himself as though he meant to tower over the mech he himself had built to tower over others. “And Cybertron would continue headlong into its own destruction.”

Orion’s face creased. “What?”

Alpha Trion’s only response was a smug look. Proteus gave a snort of derision. “I tire of listening to his nonsense. Guards, arrest-”

“Point of order,” Decimus interrupted, “I believe it is the Prime’s prerogative to give that command. The Guard is his now, after all.”

Proteus came to a sputtering halt, which he quickly recovered from. “My apologies,” he offered tightly. “I hadn’t meant to overstep. By all means, Prime.”

Orion glanced back at the Senators, all watching him with varying levels of anticipation. Decimus made a little encouraging motion - _go on._

This was it - his first official act as Prime. Did it bode well or ill that it was to deprive a mech of his freedom, regardless of what he’d done? “Guards - arrest ex-Senator Alpha Trion. The charges are dereliction of duty, theft - of the Matrix, I assume - and body modification of an unconsenting person.”

*

There wasn’t time to sit down and craft a speech. Orion thought of Megatron, his broad scarred hands so careful and painstakingly working at his battered datapad, and did his best to stay calm as he was shown into a comm station. It was unnervingly similar to the older, more beaten-down one Megatron had let him use in Kaon, and the similarities were not lost on Orion’s Kaon friends.

“Do you know what you want to say?” Megatron asked in a soft rumble - beating Ariel to it, from her faintly disgruntled expression. Orion tried not to laugh, if only so the gearbugs in his tank didn’t make it out. 

“In the abstract,” he admitted, and Ariel giggled with just a hint of sharp anxiety in the sound. Megatron just _sighed,_ and how foolish was it that the familiar sound did actually make him feel better?

“Just say what you feel,” Dion advised, his hand resting on Orion’s arm - a smaller warmth than Orion was used to, and he swallowed down the unhappiness and disorientation it prompted. It wasn’t so difficult to resign himself to his altered body around the bigger mechs of Kaon and the strange, varied places they had seen since, but it hurt that Dion and Ariel had to look _up_ to meet his optics. “You’ll be fine.”

“I’ll try,” Orion promised softly, and rested his hand gently over Dion’s. A light squeeze, and then the comm station attendants were bowing him forward - which was another thing he needed to take care of, when he could concentrate again through his nerves. “Thank you,” he said in the meantime, and gave them a somewhat sickly smile; they blinked, the two small mechs who had been seemingly trying to get him into position without touching or offending him, along with another poking their helm out from behind a console, wires still in hand. 

“The live feed’s standing by, Lord Prime,” the third tech reported, and Orion tried to hide a wince. “Let us know when you’re ready.”

“Thank you.” Orion stood on the spot indicated to him, and tried belatedly to work out what to do with his hands. The camera stared him in the face, unblinking and expectant. It occurred to him that he would have no idea how his speech was being received until later. This would be very different from the speeches in Kaon, Simfur, or Tarn. _Primus, let me not screw this up._

The Senators were watching, but they were outnumbered by his Kaonite friends, his fellow dockers. Megatron nodded when Orion met his optics. Ariel gave him a fierce smile, showing him a fist. _You got this,_ she mouthed. Orion smiled, nodded to her in returned.

“I’m ready,” he said.

The tech nodded and threw the power switch. Electricity hummed through the comm room. “In three, two,” she counted down, then pointed to him. _One._

“Greetings, citizens of Iacon - and of other cities, when you receive this broadcast,” Orion heard himself say. “By now, you probably all know me as Optimus Prime. Now allow me to introduce myself properly. My name is Orion Pax, and until a few lunar cycles ago I worked on the Iacon docks, a common laborer the same as many of you.”

_Pause. Let that settle in. So far, so good..._ “Since I left the docks, I have traveled to many cities - though by no means all of them, yet. I have met many good, brave people, but I have also seen them suffering under oppression, corruption, poverty, hunger.” He paused again, not for the listeners’ benefit but for his own, gathering himself. “All of it is preventable. I know it is. And I have come here, I have claimed the Matrix and the honor of Primacy, for no lesser purpose than to change it all. You who labor, you who hunger, you who struggle and fear and doubt - _you are my people._ I am here for you first and foremost.”

He hesitated, gaze lifting to the beloved faces watching him speak. Ariel’s optics were blazing bright and fierce and sheening with tears that she impatiently blinked away; Dion was grinning from audial to audial, almost vibrating in place, and Sideswipe - Sideswipe was a match for him, optics shining as bright as his smile. It took a moment for him to meet Megatron’s optics, and the fierce pride burning in the mech’s gaze was a match for Ariel’s, setting Orion’s spark alight.

_You are my people._ The words rang through him, right down to his struts, and the look he gave the camera then was one that would be used in stills and newsreels the planet over, though he wouldn’t know it yet.

“I am a worker,” he said, and felt the truth of it reverberate outwards from his frame. “I am here to work for Cybertron, for the _people_ of Cybertron - Iacon is my home, though a Prime is not bound to one city. I swear to you now, my people, from the lowest levels to the highest, I will do everything in my power to aid you.”

Blue light tickled at the edges of his vision, a whisper in his audial just on the verge of hearing - a whisper that sounded like Verdandi, like the nameless psychopomp of Simfur, like Wavereader...like Rodion.

“Until all are one,” Orion murmured, and it felt right.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orion and his friends have... a day. It's a... day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slow updates a-go-go! We're currently dragging our writing mojo out from wherever it's hiding, please bear with us.

The Primal Compound, Orion was informed, had been shut up since the fall of the last Prime, and had likely fallen into disrepair. Why not stay in one of the ambassador’s suites on the Senate compound while the Primes’ ancestral home was made livable again? They would be happy to furnish it with whatever the Prime’s party might require, of course.

Orion agreed, mostly because he was exhausted right down to his pedecaps, and allowed Decimus’s secretary to lead the way to the ambassadors’ wing. The Senate Guard - _his_ Guard now, and wouldn’t that take some getting used to - still marched before and behind, which was quite sweet of them, but he wondered what they were protecting him from here in the Senate, where the danger wasn’t likely to come at the end of a blaster, and if they really meant to follow him _everywhere._

Then they were standing before a pair of tall ornately-embossed doors, and Decimus’s secretary smiled briefly, and rather smugly, back at them before keying the door open.

Fluttering movement greeted them: the guards started forward before halting in consternation, Megatron burst out laughing, and Drift let out an extraordinary growl, but Orion could only blink as the five silk-draped courtesans - they could only be courtesans, he’d _seen_ enough ‘decadent upper classes’ erotic holovids to recognize the slender, lightly-armoured and rather leggy frametype when he saw it - rose to greet them.

“...um,” escaped his vocalizer, and Megatron laughed harder, which was _not helping, dammit._ “Can I help you?”

The courtesans all smiled at him, identical but for which colour went where, all five polished to the tens and certainly very pretty but he was _tired_ and, all at once, very sure that this was all rehearsed.

“Not at all, my lord Prime,” one of them purred, low and sweet and musical, and all five bowed low in a whisper of silks. Megatron’s engine was hiccupping and his vocaliser had given out from the strain. “Why, we are here to help _you._ ”

“Aw, fraggin’ Primus, really? Now?” Ratchet complained from somewhere behind Sideswipe’s open-mouthed staring, and that jolted Orion out of his immobility.

“Well. That - is very kind of you, but short of finding a berth big enough for our party, I won’t be in need of any help for at least another few cycles,” he said firmly. “While ordinarily I would love to get to know each other better, I’ve just walked from Tarn and I’m really quite tired, so if you’ll excuse me- What are your names?”

The courtesan was blinking rather rapidly, looking like they weren’t entirely sure where to pick up their lines in the script they were accustomed to. “Ah - I am Glimmer, lord Prime. This is Flicker, Crystalline, Frost and Ember. We would be more than happy to-”

“I’m sorry,” Orion interrupted, more gently this time. “I really would like to speak to you, and interfacing might be pleasant another time, but right now I really am tired. If you would like to, sometime, we can talk about it without any fear of coercion, certainly on my part.”

The other four were casting uncertain looks at their spokesmech, who was looking distinctly as though they’d never been _politely refused_ before and wasn’t at all sure how to react. “We could- Refreshments,” one of them blurted. “...I mean, we might at least offer the Lord Prime and his companions a nightcap before they retire?”

Their brief lapse in poise earned only a censorious look from Glimmer the spokesmech, but Orion nodded, grateful for the offered compromise. “That would be welcome. Thank you.”

The courtesans immediately leaped into activity, finding additives, energon and elaborately-decorated drinking vessels in their subspaces, and certainly Sideswipe’s optics couldn’t get any bigger if he tried. To their credit, the fuel mixes they offered were very good, and two of them quickly located the biggest berth in the Senate complex and had it hauled in by six labor-class models all wearing the sigil of the Senate. Ironhide and the Guard briefly, stringently and insistently tried to prove that they could help and that the workers needed vetting to be around the Prime, no seriously, but Megatron calmly did his best impression of a wall to let the porters do their jobs without being hassled. They looked flummoxed enough on finding out just who the titan-class berth was for _anyway._ Orion thanked the porters warmly, when it was installed promised to get to know them better at a later date, and then with Ratchet and Bolts’s backing politely kicked them, the Prime’s Guard, and the courtesans out.

“Finally,” he groaned, and flopped facedown on the giant berth. “Anyone who wants is welcome to join me,” he added, voice muffled, “but I’m not moving.”

An amused Sideswipe poked his ankle joint and got no more than a twitch in response. “Welp, you heard him,” he grinned at his twin, and belly-flopped over Orion’s aft. Orion gave a muffled grunt and flapped a hand at him, but peeling his bodyguard off was clearly too much trouble. “Hey, comfy!” Sideswipe announced. “Come on, cuddlepile on Orion.” Sunstreaker shook his head at his twin, but ambled around to settle where he could see Sideswipe’s face and lean along Orion’s leg. And maybe bat at Sideswipe’s helm, just because he could and Sideswipe was right there. It earned him a yelp and a wriggle, but that quickly stopped when Orion groaned in annoyance at them both.

The dockworkers and, amusingly, Ratchet were glancing between each other, not entirely sure what to make of this or each other, but Ariel was the next to move - she beat Megatron to it, marching over to the enormous berth and dragging Dion by one hand, clambering up at the head of the berth to push their way under Orion’s arm together. He was just big enough to cuddle both of them at once without having to move much, and he let out a soft, comforted sigh when Megatron’s weight dipped the thick padding on his other side.

“Well? Come on,” came a slightly muffled mutter from the big mech, and Orion beamed with sleepy optics as Bolts huffed and stretched out at his full length at the foot of the berth before curling up - and letting out an aggrieved yowl when Fancy half-fell on him, the other dockers fitting in between them and Orion’s legs like puzzle-pieces. Then the only ones left were Ratchet and Drift, and Ratchet had never been backwards about coming forwards - the only issue was climbing up onto the massive berth without treading on someone. He found a comfortable spot at Dion’s back, carefully making sure his pedes weren’t in the younger mech’s way and earning himself a smile.

Nobody saw when Drift did it, but he wound up half-sitting up and leaning against Megatron’s knees, as far from Ratchet as he could get and facing the door. Sunstreaker, who had had similar ideas of their territory being invaded in the night by unfriendly forces, flicked his optics around as far as he could and nodded silent approval. Megatron’s climbing up behind him meant the golden twin was kind of stuck between Megatron’s legs and Orion’s, but Drift could hold an advance off with his pistols while the twins extricated themselves. They could take turns the other way around next time.

Safe, exhausted and comfortably buried in familiar fields, Orion swiftly fell fast asleep.

*

_SO. THIS IS THE NEW PRIME._

Orion sat bolt upright. His companions still drowsed, so still that he was sure at once this was another dream or vision. The massive glowing mechanism standing at the foot of his berth cemented the hypothesis.

“Are you Hexadecimal?” he asked.

The mech inclined his helm. _THOU HAST HEARD OF ME._

“Verdandi told me about you.” Warned him about the mech’s impressive manner, and yes, Orion had to admit he was intimidated, feeling as small as a symbiote in the psychopomp’s presence. “Whatever you have to impart to me,” he said, gathering his courage, “I am listening.”

Hexadecimal put his head to the side. _SO EAGER TO BEGIN THE WORK. I WONDER IF THOU TRULY COMPREHEND THE MAGNITUDE OF THE TASK THOU HAST UNDERTAKEN. IT MAY BE THE WORKING OF LIFETIMES, ORION PAX. I WILL RECEIVE THY SPARK TO PRIMUS’S CARE BEFORE THERE IS AN END._

He likely meant the use of Orion’s true name as a dig, but Orion was relieved to hear it. “I’ve already begun,” he answered boldly. “Do you expect me to back off now? Maybe there will come a time when I tire, and falter.” His gaze drifted to his sleeping companions. “Even with my friends around me to keep me honest. But - until then, I’ll make as much progress as I can. Others will take up the work after me when I am gone.”

_THOU ART CERTAIN OF THIS._

“From what I know of the people I have met…” Orion smiled. “I am.”

At that, Orion was treated to what he was sure was the rarest of sights: Hexadecimal’s smile.

_LOOK TO THE DEEP, OPTIMUS PRIME_ , he said. _AND BE WARY OF NOBILITY BEARING GIFTS._

Before Orion could thank him, darkness claimed his consciousness again, sending him back into slumber.

*

Ordinarily, when Orion rose through layers of recharge to rejoin the waking world, it was with an idea of what needed to be done that day - even if it was just ‘keep driving until we reach the next city’, as it had been for the past several lunar rotations. This time, Orion woke to the comforting weight of frames and fields he loved, and took a long moment to bask in them.

“I know you’re online,” Megatron rumbled softly, and a pleasant shiver ran down Orion’s backstrut at the familiar vibration.

“Hmm.” Orion shifted, testingly, just to see who else was awake; a sleepy, comfortable ‘face would be lovely - and then he remembered, with a pang, that his Iacon family likely wouldn’t want to, at least not with Megatron. _Something else we’ll need to talk about..._ But in the meantime Sideswipe was muttering into Orion’s aft, which felt like Sideswipe was trying to hug it and was also _very_ strange, and would likely wind up being fuel for much teasing later; the others were also starting to stir, and - regretfully - now probably wasn’t the best time for swapping cables.

It really was a lovely berth, though.

“So...” 

The voice was a little fuzzed with static, still not entirely awake, but caught everyone’s audial regardless. 

“So,” Ariel said, a little more firmly. “What do we do now?”

“Look to the deep,” Orion mumbled.

“...what?”

Orion shook his head. He was still putting the pieces together. “I suppose we should start with fuel,” he said, wallowing up to his knees and displacing Sideswipe with the action. He rolled, letting out a complaining whine. “Then I’m sure there’s a gauntlet of manners we’ll have to navigate.”

“I don’t envy you, youngling,” Bolts admitted, patting Orion’s shoulder. “Now, as much as I hate to admit it - work’s probably stackin’ up at the docks. We gotta get back or they’ll chuck us all in the Dead End.”

“Don’t, please,” Orion begged as Drift tensed. “Don’t say such things.”

“I’m not leaving.”

Orion suddenly found himself with a lapful of stubborn Ariel; Bolts blinked at the pair of them as Orion folded his arms around her. “I don’t want you to leave either,” he confessed.

“Then I won’t,” Ariel answered, simple as that. “Orion, you need me. If nothing else, to keep you grounded when these Senate goons are trying to convince you not to trust your instincts.”

“If Ariel’s staying,” Dion murmured, joining the cuddle-knot, “I’m staying. I’m sure I can find something useful to do.”

Orion reached out, held his hand tightly. “Thank you,” he murmured. “Both of you. Bolts, Fancy - everyone - I need you too. I need you to tell everyone you can of me on the docks, and gather some of those petitions that have been going around. Especially the ones about funding for equipment maintenance and medstations.” Bolts’ optics lit; Orion smiled. “Let’s see if I can’t wield this supreme executive power to make some of them a reality.”

“That is all well and good,” Megatron rumbled, and the dockworkers almost to a mech rounded to glare at him, “but first we need to make sure that you can wield that power. I doubt the Senate has been idle in our absence, and they will very likely try to block you.”

“You’re right,” Orion conceded with a sigh. “All I can really do is hope that those who actually run the city will listen to me, even if the Senate won’t.”

Ratchet shifted and slid off the berth, stretching out his cables before tilting his head Orion-ward. “I better get back to the hospital,” he said reluctantly. “Be careful, all right? You need help navigating some of this slag, I might be able to help.”

“Thank you, Ratchet.” Orion gently disentangled his hands and moved over to the older mech, and while Ratchet might not have been expecting the hug he only grumbled softly and wrapped his arms around Orion’s waist to return it.

Quietly, in the background, Drift slid down from the massive berth and nonchalantly sidled behind Megatron, out of Ratchet’s line of sight.

*

The Guards had, after a brief but thorough security check of the suite the previous shift, left Orion and his party mercifully alone. As soon as he poked his helm out of the door, however, Ironhide was there.

“Prime’s guard, form - up!” he barked, right by Orion’s audial. He winced and nearly withdrew back into the suite entirely. “Welcome back to the land of the online, Lord Prime. You got some correspondence while you were in recharge.”

“I suppose it’s too much to ask that other people recharge in this place,” Orion grumped, taking the datapad Ironhide offered and squinting at it.

“‘Fraid so, Lord Prime. The Senate aides like to say ‘I’ll sleep when I’m deactivated.’”

“Mf.” Orion thumbed the datapad on and scrolled with increasing alarm through the long list of messages. “It’s just Orion, by the way.”

Ironhide fell silent for a moment. “I - I just don’t think I can-” he blurted, then fell into an embarrassed silence.

Perhaps Orion _was_ moving a little fast. There was time for them to get to know each other, for Ironhide to see that he was just a mech like any other. “Can you at least drop the Lord part?”

Broad red shoulders relaxed. “Yessir - Prime.”

Orion rewarded him with a smile, one that had Ironhide glowing. “Thank you.”

“Welp, better get going.” Ratchet nudged his way past, patting Orion familiarly on the arm, and Ironhide’s jaw dropped visibly at the casual mechhandling of his Prime. “You look after yourself, all right? I wanna know how you’re doing, and I don’t mean just the Prime stuff.”

“I promise,” Orion said with a smile. “Ironhide, could you send a couple of guards with Ratchet to make sure there aren’t...problems, on the way back to the hospital?”

“Very sensible,” Megatron rumbled over Ratchet’s reflexive protest. “Be well, medic.”

“Yeah, yeah, just look after him,” Ratchet grumbled, and folded his arms impatiently as Ironhide picked out two of the Prime’s Guard to escort him - under protest, he repeatedly insisted. The dockworkers glanced at each other and decided to head out along with Ratchet, and Orion in turn insisted that the guards drop Ratchet off at the hospital before continuing on and escorting Bolts’ group to the docks.

“Better safe than sorry, I guess,” Fancy sighed, then the entire group wrapped Orion up in more hugs than he knew what to do with. It was so hard for him to let go, harder still to think of them walking away from him after he’d spent so long without them... After hugs that Orion wasn’t ashamed to admit were actually emphatic clinging, and Ariel and Dion being told over and again to look after each other and Orion and not take any slag from anyone - and with no small amount of bewildered side-optics from the Guard - they were gone, and the remaining group deflated just a little.

“I don’t know where to start,” Orion said softly, and the beginnings of panic fluttered through his tanks. What if nobody listened to him at all? What could he do?

“Cycle, Orion,” Megatron told him, low and fierce. “No one’s expecting you to change the world in one shift. Find one thing you can do today.”

“Speaking from experience?” Orion asked, leaning against Megatron’s shoulder.

“Of course.” Megatron’s hand curled around his, gave it a brief squeeze. “You’d be amazed how quickly that _one thing_ can blossom into revolution.”

“I’m sure.” Orion suppressed a shiver - as much as he respected Megatron, he hoped that his intentions to reform the labor systems wouldn’t lead to such violent revolution as had happened in Kaon. He had no wish to see his friends, new or old, fight for their lives. “Well, most of these messages are from the Senate chamber, by all accounts. Let’s go there first.”

Ironhide looked more than a little relieved - apparently he’d been ready to direct the Prime to where he needed to go first, but given his reluctance at dropping any titles whatsoever from constant use, the task of herding the Prime around from one prompt to another was one that didn’t sit entirely comfortably on his shoulders. He formed up the Guard - Orion wasn’t the only one who winced a little at all the shouting and stomping, and Drift was looking more than a little impatient at not being able to distance himself from the group like this - and they set off the way they had come the cycle before.

They didn’t quite make it to the Senate chambers unharried. Upon leaving the ambassadorial wing, they were immediately set upon by Senators and an ever-shifting flurry of aides hefting data pads like weapons.

“Ah, there you are, Prime!” hailed their leader - Sherma, Orion thought, though after Proteus and Decimus the rest tended to blend together for him. “Come, come, everyone’s waiting.”

“Waiting… for what?” Orion asked, casting a dubious optic over the small knot of Senators and aides that surrounded them like obsequious predators.

“For the presentations, of course,” Sherma answered. “I know, you’ve probably got a list of things to get done, but look at it this way - the sooner we get it over with, the sooner you can get down to the business of Primacy. This way.” And with that he turned, leading the way as his compatriots herded Orion and his followers after him.

//I’m not sure I like this,// Megatron growled, and Orion turned to him - then startled when he realised that there were aides moving in between him and Megatron, and that still more were trying to unobtrusively get in between Megatron and the others. A brief flicker of panic surged through him again, echoing off the high, cold walls and glossy pillars of the corridors - it would be _so easy_ to get lost here - and his systems shifted up a gear when he realised that he couldn’t see Ariel or Dion or feel their fields in the systematic crush.

“This must be quite the experience for you,” one of the Senators said lightly, and Orion blinked distractedly.

“Pardon-?”

“Oh yes,” another chimed in. “It’s been so long since there has been a Prime, anyone who is anyone is absolutely _desperate_ to meet you.”

“And I’ll be happy to meet them too, whether they are _anyone_ or not,” Orion said firmly, finding his pedes in this if nothing else. The second Senator’s expression shifted slightly, a faint moue of distaste they couldn’t quite gloss over, then there was a bump and a scuffle and suddenly Sunstreaker was marching along beside Orion, head up and ignoring anyone who tried to cut in between him and the Prime. Glancing back over his shoulder, he caught a glimpse of Megatron’s satisfied smirk, and felt just a little better about the whole mess.

A rather more sturdy-looking aide tried to wander in front of Sunstreaker and slow to fit in between him and Orion. Sunstreaker’s pace didn’t falter, and the aide yelped and leaped forward as though stung when reinforced plating and sturdy pedes found the backs of their ankle joints. Orion fought off a grin of his own. //Thank you,// he commed, and Sunstreaker pinged back _acknowledgement_ without looking up.

//I’ve got your bitty buddies,// Sideswipe reported, and a moment later there was another similar yelp, and a bell-like laugh from Ariel. Orion relaxed, pinging his gratitude to Sideswipe and an apology to Dion and Ariel. The latter was immediately answered with a flood of derision for the Senators’ pushiness and teasing affection for him, warming him right down to the spark.

“Ah, here we are,” Sherma announced, gesturing for an aide to handle the controls of a door larger than Orion’s suite, if not quite as ornate. “Are we ready? Polish immaculate?” Suddenly everyone was acutely aware of their lack of polish, and Orion was _sure_ Sherma had done it deliberately to give them no time to hide their reactions. “Then here we go.”

The aide triggered the control at Sherma’s nod, and the door swung open.

_Oh my Primus-_ For a moment Orion was dazzled by a rainbow of perfect polish: the denizens of the Towers were referred to in popular parlance as _living jewels_ , and now he saw why. There were at least three dozen of them, shining and immaculate as though they’d never done a day’s work in their lives, and as Orion entered, every one of them turned and bowed.

“Please don’t,” Orion blurted, but his voice was drowned out by one of the aides with his vocal modulator turned up to max volume.

_“Attention! All hail Optimus Prime!”_

“...no, really, I wish you wouldn’t.”

“All hail Optimus Prime,” came the returned chorus from the room, and Orion despaired very briefly of ever being heard again. The Senators moved forward past him, melding into the crowd with a practised ease that Orion couldn’t help but feel was directed _at_ him and his friends, and the aides moved in. A sudden press of bodies urged Orion forwards, and Sunstreaker snarled as he dug in his heels - tiny, delicate tiles decorated the floor under their feet, a great mosaic that stretched out far enough that the final design was incomprehensible, lost under the the pedes of the great and the good watching Orion be shoved along a corridor opening up between the gleaming frames surrounding them.

Megatron growled at his back and Dion let out a cut-off cry - Orion tried to turn against the pressure urging him on, and finally planted his pedes and _leaned_ as though he were once again hauling in a transport across the Grand Canal.

“That is _enough,_ ” he growled in turn, his engine upshifting loudly enough to make the aides pause, and startled optics blinked up at him before darting away. “I will _not_ be herded without an explanation, and I don’t like my friends being pushed around either!”

“Ah - my Lord,” one of the aides murmured, careful not to meet his optics, and that only made Orion’s systems rev angrily before he could catch himself. “Your place is in the Prime’s high seat.”

Orion blinked, then glanced over his shoulder. On one side of the wide room was a dais, set back atop a small mountain of steps that anyone who wanted to talk to him would have to climb, and at the very top was set something that looked horrifyingly like a throne out of some bad holodrama. Stately, isolated, grandly out of the way.

_Please don’t tell me I’m supposed to sit on that thing!_

“...haha, what?” Sideswipe blurted, lost somewhere in the muddle of suddenly avoidant aides. “That’s a stupid thing to stick somebody important on, don’t you have any clue about defence?”

“I’m going to greet my people on an equal footing,” Orion managed, doing his best to sound authoritative instead of panicked, “so there won’t be any need for - that.”

A murmur ran through the gathered Towerlings, a crackle of comm traffic through the air, and Orion couldn’t catch how many Senators and their guests were muttering no matter how he tried out of the corner of his optic. He’d have to rely on his friends to watch out for him, and do his best with what he had.

“As you wish,” one of the aides said in a rather strangled tone, and the bank of frames disappeared into the crowd as though they had never been. Severely discomfited, Orion sidled back towards Megatron as he and the others strode over to Orion again in turn. His discomfort would last the rest of the shift, he was sure, and from the assessing looks no small few of the assembled were giving him, he wouldn’t be able to relax just yet.

*

Soft music played in the background, something light and delicate that Orion might have liked to stop and listened to any other time - there were musicians somewhere in one of the alcoves, he was sure, though Drift would likely be the best choice to find all the hidden parts of the compound. For now he couldn’t focus, one gleaming smile after another glittering up at him, the same words delivered over and over as though learned by rote, differentiated only by whether they were delivered with a faint sneer or the hint of an ingratiating grovel.

“Hail, Optimus Prime. Tower Tau Aqua kneels before you.”

There was no kneeling - that might have shorted Orion’s processor entirely, after everything else - but with every new declaration each Towers mech performed a strange little bob and gestured another mech in similar colours forward to offer up- well, they looked like the kinds of fancy-boxes that Orion had occasionally seen offered in confectioners’ windows for courting mechs with credits to spend. Before he could step forward to accept the whatever-it-was, or glance around for help, one or other of the _Senators’_ aides popped up to accept the box from the _Towermechs’_ aide, spiriting them off to create a stack of the things at the side of the horrible throne’s dais.

_Still not going to sit in it,_ Orion thought rebelliously, though he was rather bewildered by the practise. _Are they - actually trying to court me with presents? Please, Primus, someone tell me I’m reading into this wrong!_

“Hail, Optimus Prime. Tower Delta Crescent kneels before you.”

The first Towersmech had already backed up and moved over to talk to Senator- Senator- no, he’d never actually caught that one’s name - and another had moved in swiftly and efficiently and with another aide holding another box. Orion barely had chance to glance at it before a new aide had bustled forward, whisking it off to join the first box, and he began to feel rather like his actual presence was superfluous so long as the rest of the mechs in the room had a brightly-painted stand-in. Was he actually going to have the opportunity to speak to anyone at this party?

“Hail, Optimus Prime-”

The next aide tried to nudge Sunstreaker away from his side, coming just a little too close to the frontliner and bumping him with an officious pauldron. Sunstreaker’s optics narrowed into sharp slits and he _leaned,_ quick enough to make the other mech stumble as Sunstreaker’s not inconsiderable weight tipped against his back and sent him into an awkward half-turn. The aide shuffled, desperately trying to a) regain his balance, and b) not draw attention to himself. Orion got the impression that these mechs, as a group, were not patient with any little thing being out of place. Perhaps it was a hazard of working for the Senators, and he should try to be charitable, but the surreality of the event was scrambling his processor.

“Hail, Optimus Prime. Tower Omega Galactica kneels before you.”

The names seemed to go on and on forever, and Orion had to lock his knee joints before he wobbled - they hadn’t actually been able to find anywhere to fuel before being herded in here, and glancing around the room in between bowing presentations his spark sank - all he could see were mechs talking and whispering and moving around each other, nothing even close to a bar or anything to eat. Another Towersmech came forward - how many of them _were_ there? Did they really each have a tower, or was that just some kind of title? - and he did his best to pay attention. He’d tried, once or twice, to get a word in before the Towerling withdrew, but even if they gave him a curious look rather than outright ignoring the attempt, none of them waited. Maybe it wasn’t _allowed_.

Orion nodded to the latest representative, watched passively as their gift was paraded past him and onto the alarmingly-sized pile, and sighed in silent relief - no-one else came forward to participate in this little exchange of fancy-wrapped courtesies, so he looked out over the gathered mechs and drew an invent to address them.

“On this most momentous occasion, we pause to remember the Primes of old, who have laid the foundations for our great and glorious society-”

...well. Apparently he wasn’t going to be allowed to speak to the Towerlings himself today. How had any of the previous Primes got anything _done?_

Orion tried not to glare at the Senator currently droning on about tradition and honor and didn’t entirely succeed. A channel opened in his comm suite and Orion gratefully accepted the ping, remembering to release the lock on his joints just in case he’d get to mingle and actually meet people after the speech was over.

//Are you bored yet?// Megatron asked dryly, and Orion held in a huff of amusement.

//They could have just used a sheetmetal cutout of me,// he sent back, and saw Megatron’s mouth curve in amusement. //It would have been exactly as effective.//

//Say the word and I can knock the motormouth out,// Drift broke in, sounding unutterably bored and cranky with it.

//No knocking people out,// Orion admonished quickly, just in case Drift wasn’t kidding. //Not when their only crime is being annoying. And boring.//

//When do we get to open the presents?// Sideswipe demanded. //Bet there’s some good high-grade in there.//

//And some tacky statuary,// Ariel piped up. //You know, like in the holovids.//

//Primus save us from tacky statuary,// Orion groaned internally. //I’m tempted to just sell the whole pile and use the proceeds to - to - I don’t know. Build a park or something. Is that something I get to do?//

//I’d leave the city planning to others, Orion,// Megatron answered dryly. //Give the funds to Ratchet. I’m sure he can put it to good use.//

//Good idea.//

*

The speeches did, in fact, drag on right the way through the on-shift. Each of the Senators spoke, at length, and when they were done each of the Towerlings took a turn standing on the bottom level of the Prime’s Dais, as they called it. The Senators’ speeches contained mostly platitudes and nothing of substance, and those of the Towers mechs were essentially more of the same.

//If I hear one more variation on Sentinel Prime’s virtues or Zeta Prime’s wisdom,// Ariel said calmly, //I’m actually going to scream. You think they’d take a break for that, or just keep going?//

//They would keep going,// Megatron replied flatly, //And likely have you removed from the room for the interruption. See how none of them will look at us?//

Ariel didn’t reply, but Orion noticed her glancing around rather sharply after that. It was true - none of the Towerlings and none of the Senators would look at anyone other than each other or Orion, as though the aides and the Kaonite-docker coalition didn’t exist as anything other than mobile speedbumps.

//I wonder what would happen if you addressed them,// Orion said slowly to Megatron, a spark of either inspiration or impishness kindling in his spark. //Perhaps we should say you were here as Kaon’s ambassador with your own guards. That would make things more interesting.//

Megatron snorted over the comm, and a smile lingered about Orion’s mouth no matter how dry the droning speeches were. //The day I am relegated to the position of meaningless blowhard is the day I rust,// he retorted. //Find me an Iaconian position that _doesn’t_ rely on repetition and self-aggrandisation and I will consider it.//

//Duly noted.//

//Aww, now what?// Sideswipe whined, and Orion blinked. The current Towerling’s speech was winding down - Tower Omicron Nebula, he hastily affirmed to himself after blinking back through his short-term cache - and there was a ripple of movement around the throne-end of the room. //Aren’t we _done_ yet?//

//Apparently not,// Orion sighed, and braced himself as Senator Decimus made his way over to him. The older mech would clearly have preferred doing this on a dais where he could gesture more dramatically, but he swept over to the Prime as though they were on a stage all their own regardless. 

“Gentlemechs,” he declaimed, and Megatron snorted over their shared comm channel. “This is a great day for Iacon. The Matrix has returned-”

//What are you, a trophy case?// Sunstreaker muttered.

“-and Iacon has a Prime once more.”

//Oops, nope, just you’re not allowed to leave or be from anywhere that isn’t Iacon,// Sideswipe chirped in reply, and Ariel snickered. //Ugh, we need a bingo display for this slag, it’s gettin’ old.//

//Bingo?// Dion replied in some confusion, and Sideswipe launched into an explanation as Decimus raised a hand to hover at Orion’s back without actually touching him. The contrast between the Senator’s gleaming, well-kept plating and Orion’s travel-worn finish was a stark one, especially since they hadn’t been able to properly soak in a washrack after-

Orion’s spark clenched, remembering the words of both mechs sent to kill him. _Senate. Iacon._

_...you run around calling yourself the Prime, what did you expect?...._

_Which of the Senate sent those mechs to kill us?_

The blatant comparisons to be drawn between the glossy, well-spoken Senator and a rough, scruffy hauler who hadn’t been allowed to say a word all shift were silent but heavy as a falling loader arm. Orion gritted his jaw and endured the looks - smirking, curious, some blatantly appreciative in a way that made him profoundly uncomfortable, and the quiet aides filling the gaps between the other mechs, data pads in hand and making notes all the while.

_Which of them ordered the Guardians to Kaon?_

“...and I know that we all anticipate a great future for our new Prime,” Decimus was saying, his smile a bland, professional, impersonal thing. “His name shall go down in the annals of history, one of Iacon’s own risen to greatness, and we are both proud and honoured to show him the way.”

A beat’s pause, then a light, polite tapping started up - the Towerlings patting one palm with the fingertips of the other hand, the soft and delicate as acid rain. Decimus inclined his helm graciously, and Orion glanced about for anyone else stepping forward as he   
readied himself to speak again-

“And now, with all Towers presented, I bid you all a good cycle and officially close business for this shift.”

_....what?_

“My Lord Prime?” an aide murmured deferentially, their optics cast demurely away to the floor. “Your Guard is ready to escort you back to the ambassadorial suite.”

Orion glanced around in disbelief. The Towerlings were _leaving,_ he realised despairingly, along with the Senators and the aides that surrounded them in an ever-present tide, and _nothing had changed._

“Come on,” Ariel said softly, her hand slipping into Orion’s larger one. The aide hurriedly glanced away, after a confused moment of staring in scandalised titillation at a _dockworker_ holding the hand of the _Prime_. “We can try again tomorrow. Everyone’s running on empty.”

“What a waste,” Orion mourned, just as quiet, and didn’t bother to hide his words from the aide’s audials. He let Ariel guide him back over to the others, shoulders slumping, and met Megatron’s scarlet optics with his own disappointed blue.

“Fuel first,” Megatron said bluntly, and rested his arm around Orion’s shoulders; Ariel glared up at him, but didn’t make a fuss with the remaining aides and who knew who else listening in and watching them. “I’m sure there’s _somewhere_ in this ridiculous tourist trap to fuel up...”

“Ah - Lord Prime?”

_I am so sick of those words._ “Yes?”

The aide from before shuffled nervously, their optics lifting ever so slightly before dropping again. For a moment, it had almost looked as though she were going to meet his gaze. “There will be fuel served for you on your return - in your quarters, if you’d prefer?”

Maybe it would be better to make a scene, to sit and fuel up somewhere very visible and share goodies with his friends, but Orion didn’t have the spark for it right now. “Yes please. Thank you - what was your name?”

The aide swallowed, hard, and fiddled with her datapad. “Sagewind, sir. Lord Prime. Sir.”

Orion smiled, the only time he’d done so in company of the Senate and their staff all cycle. “Thank you, Sagewind. Our quarters would be ideal.”

The little aide squeaked and bobbed into a little bow before fleeing, and Ariel gave him a knowing grin before tugging him off.

“Typical,” Megatron muttered, and Orion blinked innocently at him.

“What?”

“Just you,” Ariel said fondly, and drew the pair of them after her.

*

There was indeed fuel in the ambassador’s quarters when they returned - two large energon cubes full of enriched midgrade, enough to just about top off Orion’s tanks, and some smaller cubes of lowgrade. The implications were clear enough - _your friends are not wanted here._ Orion stared at the folding table set up to hold the cubes, and wasn’t sure whether he wanted to storm out and find something better or take the lowgrade for himself before the others could see.

The sound of Megatron’s finger joints squeaking as he tightened his fists put paid to that mad fancy.

“Do we throw a fit or what?” Sideswipe said bluntly, peering around the bigger mechs to poke at the cubes. “I mean, this ain’t subtle, and it’s gotta come from somewhere.”

Orion rubbed his hands over his face. He was tired, and sparksick, and if he had to throw a fit then he might just lose his temper, and he didn’t want to no matter how petty the Senate Compound at large seemed to be...

“Save it for right now,” Drift said as though reading Orion’s processor. “‘S enough for everyone, just got to mix it.”

“...what?” Orion said blankly, and Drift snorted at him.

“Mix the whole lot up together, you got a decent ration that’ll keep you going even if it don’t top your tanks,” the smaller mech clarified. “Smaller tanks, smaller ration, so you two don’t keel over neither.”

“This works,” Dion said brightly, and reached for two of the lowgrade cubes. “I don’t suppose there’s anything actually useful in this place...”

“Hold that thought!” Sideswipe caroled, and he and Sunstreaker set to raiding the ridiculously ornate cabinets and washracks, coming back with a broad, shallow bowl and what looked like an old dipper.

“Not great, but ‘s all we could find,” Sunstreaker clarified, Sideswipe and Dion already setting to pouring the lowgrade into the bowl. Drift scooped up the empty cubes before they could dissipate, and once all the energon had been collected and poured into the bowl he ran the dipper through the mixture slowly, carefully, with the air of a dedicated chemist before he pronounced himself satisfied. Pouring energon back into the cubes was the work of a moment, and Orion felt a little better about the world with something in his tanks.

“Now that,” Sideswipe pronounced a few moments later, when he’d practically inhaled most of his cube in one long swallow, “I needed.”

“We noticed,” Sunstreaker said dryly, and Drift snickered quietly into his own cube - he was taking slow, steady sips that filled his tank gradually and set his fuelling systems into a gradual burn rather than a flash-flood of energy, and Orion did his best to imitate Drift rather than upset his own tanks. Quiet filled the room for a few moments more, all of them hungry enough to focus on the mix in their respective cubes, but it didn’t last for long.

“Well,” Megatron said, setting his cube down with a decisive click. “That was rather enlightening.”

“If y’mean ‘really fraggin’ rude’, then sure,” Sideswipe deadpanned, but Megatron only shook his head impatiently.

“Orion had the right of it. They want a figurehead, not a Prime willing to work. I saw more than just one or two Towerlings approaching the Senators, and I highly doubt it was to ask after their health.”

“Why, then?” Dion asked uneasily, leaning against Orion’s side and glancing up at him. “I mean, they didn’t even want to _talk_ to you. We still don’t even know what was in those presents - they could have just been empty boxes.”

“Maybe we oughta find out,” Drift muttered, and Sunstreaker nodded along with him. Ariel only shook her head.

“None of us even know what a Prime’s supposed to do,” she pointed out, and Orion hunched his shoulders before she prodded his arm to make him stop. “How do we know that _they_ do? I mean, they might just want him to like them to endorse whatever they’re up to - plausible deniability, that sort of thing. All _I_ know is that the Towers were one of the biggest importers at the docks.”

“And one of the primary bulk-purchase clients in Kaon,” Megatron rumbled, pulling out a datapad to fiddle with rather than meet any of the dockers’ faintly accusing optics. “Perhaps our first task should be primarily to gather information - I doubt this will be the last of their attempts to parade you around for the Towerlings’ pleasure, Orion.”

Orion’s plating crawled. “I suppose not,” he said reluctantly, “but we can’t keep going out with no fuel in our tanks, either. Before we go anywhere next on-shift, we need to find the nearest dispenser.”

“And how to access it,” Sunstreaker pointed out, and Orion’s spark sank a little lower.

The berth that off-shift felt a little too giving, smothering his vents even with his friends curled up around him to keep him cool. This time there was no visit from Hexadecimal or any other psychopomp he might have met - instead Orion dreamed of being towed through an endless series of gleaming golden hallways whose ceilings disappeared out of his optical range, into an endless ballroom that glittered and sparkled until he could barely see. He tossed and turned, being introduced to a parade of faceless mechs whose names he couldn’t catch, and woke with a jolt of anguished guilt when he caught sight of Rodion’s dirty, disgusted face glaring at him through the distant window, locked out away from the light.


End file.
